


The Inevitable

by ThisChairIsMyHomeNow



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath, Angst, Cabins, Domestic, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Falling In Love, Femslash February, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, Grinding, Intimacy, Natasha Romanov Lives, Oral Sex, Post-Endgame, Protective Natasha Romanov, SAD! COZY! SEX!, Sharing a Bed, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Status: Complete, Survivor Guilt, Vaginal Fingering, WIP, background Steve/Bucky - Freeform, optimistic nihilism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:14:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22134334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisChairIsMyHomeNow/pseuds/ThisChairIsMyHomeNow
Summary: “So I’m Pepper’s bodyguard?” Natasha clarified.“A bodyguard to the Earth’s— no, thegalaxy's— most beloved hero’s family,” Fury corrected.“No offense, but I’m a little overqualified for protection detail. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.”“There always is, Romanov."
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 79
Kudos: 136
Collections: Dark Poetesses Favorites





	1. Summer

**SUMMER**

She slunk away to the treeline when the funeral was over. 

Her body moved through the woods with the quick precision of the untrackable. Well, Clint could track her, were he still alive. But he had fallen and died after that unfair fight, leaving her with the Soul Stone and a grief as jarring as a cliffside. 

For the rest of her life and perhaps in the one after, she’d remember the sight of him vanishing from the edge, quick like a gust of wind. 

It was supposed to be her. 

Natasha had wanted to sacrifice herself for Clint with every fiber of her being, because no one needed her and she _ owed _ him, she did, despite the fact that he had left her after the Decimation. In her hour of need and everyone else’s. 

Maybe that’s why he fought to let her live. Guilt. Maybe he’d wanted his family to remain innocent of the darkness that had crept into his heart in their absence. Nat didn’t know all of what he’d seen or done. Perhaps the wounds were too deep and there was no going back. 

Whatever the reason: he was gone and she was not and now she was skulking through the woods in an expensive black pantsuit with too much on her mind. 

The main dilemma was where to go next. 

Natasha’s home for the last five years was quite literally a pile of rubble at the moment. Clint’s farm in Iowa was a pile of rubble too, in a way—one she’d be willing to help rebuild, if Laura hadn’t explicitly told her not to come. They had lots of family nearby. They’d survive, Laura said. Nat had been too stunned to argue. 

It was supposed to be her. They both knew it.

She reached a high clearing and leaned on a tree and looked out at Tony’s picturesque cabin from a distance. 

Pepper’s cabin. That was Pepper’s cabin. Tony didn’t live there anymore. She had a lot of facts to keep straight. Nothing had really sunk in. After the time heist and the Return, it felt like the laws of nature could be overturned at any moment. The sun could disappear on a dime, maybe. The sky could shift from afternoon-blue and instantly turn to starry darkness just to fuck with her. 

_ “Do you know what it’s like to be unmade?” _

_ “You know I do.” _

And now the whole world knew too: Small children with Decimated parents had gone into the system, been adopted, loved. Now their biological parents were alive again, just like that. Widows and widowers had remarried. 

Many of the Blip-ed were now finding out that their loved ones had killed themselves in their absence, unable to bear the weight of the Decimation’s existential heaviness. There had been a public health crisis and a thousand think-pieces written about it. 

She had read most of them and still somehow found a way to steel herself against the despair. She prided herself on always being able to keep going. Maybe it was catching up to her.

It was supposed to be her. She wished it had been her. She didn’t want to be alive anymore. It was nothing dramatic. Just the truth. She was accustomed to being able to steer situations, no matter how sticky, in the right direction. But she was unsuccessful this time. Her own aliveness was proof of failure. Mission unaccomplished.

In the safety of her solitude she willed herself to cry, but no tears came. Of course they didn’t. They never did at the right moments. She knew this feeling well. Numbness as heavy as gravity. No tears for one of her best friends, or the planet’s savior either, just a darkly comical thought about how Tony Stark only bought the world a little more time. 

Tony’s funeral had been a quiet, humble affair—quite unlike the man Tony used to be. He had changed so much in the time Natasha had known him, thanks to Pepper and maybe the Avengers and mainly due to Tony himself, trying his damndest to do better and eventually succeeding. She thought back to when she’d been assigned as his shadow, to that birthday party when he’d almost drunkenly exploded all of his guests. 

It was comical to think of _ that _ man living here on this 8,000 acre property, with a few farm animals and a wife and small daughter and the knowledge of how to make blueberry jam. She’d tasted some this morning at the behest of Pepper. It was delicious. 

Carthage, New York was practically in Canada, about 30 miles from Lake Ontario. Fort Drum was nearby, which seemed strategic on Tony’s part. He wanted a quiet life, but also an entire military installation available to him, just in case. Excluding the base, the population of the town was technically less than 4,000 people, and that’s possibly because it snowed more here than it did in Alaska.

But not today. Today the forest was green and teeming, as it should be in late May. She studied the downed log to her left as she started trekking again. It was covered in toadstools, orange and bright. They were as pretty as flowers in her opinion. If she let her eyes unfocus they were indistinguishable from Marigolds. 

She placed Marigolds on a grave once, she thinks. She can’t even remember whose.

Christ. This is what she signed up for when she let people in. This is why she’d spent most of her life avoiding doing so. One way or another it ends. 

It was all Clint’s fault that she had ever learned to love in the first place. Now that he was gone, maybe it was time to give it up. Go back to being The Job, a weapon, a gun for hire—and nothing else. Severing attachments was an ancient specialty of hers. It had been so long since she’d felt the thrill of it. She could fly to another part of the world to forget all of this. Belarus. Kazakhstan. Wherever. Just not Budapest—

_ She had no place in the world. _

_ She had no place— _

A twig snapped in the distance and everything in her mind went quiet. She wished it were a predator for the wonderful amount of adrenaline it would provide. But it was the opposite of a predator. 

It was Steve. 

Her friend. Work partner. The only man who had ever made her wish she were straight. Their connection had been born out of necessity. From their first time on the run together in D.C. to years of international fugitivism, he always had her back. He was family even though right now she didn’t want one, didn’t like the risks. 

He still had a ways to go before catching up to her, but he seemed determined and not at all stealthy. She slowed and made herself obvious, just because it was him.

“Hiya soldier,” she called out, a little sing song. 

His head snapped in her direction and then his shoulders relaxed. “You runnin’ off on me?”

“Thinkin’ about it.” 

He was a little out of breath when he finally got close enough for her to see the anxious expression on his face. She felt a stab of guilt for making his brow to do that, until she realized it probably wasn’t about her at all. It was about time travel and Infinity Stones. 

She crossed her arms. “Bruce got everything set up?”

“Mission is a-go.” 

“Nervous?” she asked, although the answer was obvious. 

Steve scrubbed a hand through his hair. “A lot’s riding on this one.”

She wanted to ask him to take her along, to bring Clint back somehow, but she knew it was pointless and impossible. Even if she _ could _ go back and trade herself for Clint, Steve wouldn’t let her. 

“I’ll come see you off,” Nat offered, gesturing back toward the cabin. 

He threw her a furtive glance and started walking with her. More than once he cleared his throat and opened his mouth to say something but then decided against it. His pace kept slowing and speeding up again. 

“Steve, out with it.” 

“It’s just—-well, Bucky’s got— he’s got this _ idea,” _he said, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting. 

It took practically half a mile for him to say the rest. “He thinks—I feel like an ass sayin’ it out loud. He thinks I should stay in the past with Peggy. Get that happily ever after.”

The thought of Peggy Carter messing with time itself for _ a man? _ Natasha kept her face very still while processing this. In the end she succumbed to laughing out loud. “He’s so full of shit.” 

Steve startled. “He seemed serious. Says he wants me to be happy.” 

“Oh, he’s serious. Seriously self-loathing.” 

“Not following.”

“You told me once that he pushed you away during the war. After you found him in that lab. Is that right?”

“Yeah.” 

“And when he was in Wakanda he seemed standoffish, right?”

“Unfortunately.” 

“And now he’s telling you to ride off into the sunset and leave him behind. Have you ever thought about _ why _?”

“Maybe I stir up bad memories.” 

“Or _ maybe _ he loves you and thinks he’s bringing you down. He’s still trying to protect you from himself. To be fair, he did almost kill you several times. He might have a point.” 

Steve halted. His face cycled through several tiny emotions: fear, denial, happiness, embarrassment, then back to fear again. Nat stepped closer to him and slipped a soothing hand on his arm. The same arm that had literally pulled a helicopter out of the sky for Barnes. These two morons just kept trying to kill themselves for each other over and over again. Nat felt like a doctor diagnosing some strange ailment in them. 

“Go see Peggy,” she advised. “Get some closure. And then get your ass back here in the present where I _ know _ you know you belong. You don’t _ retreat _, Steve. You don’t have it in you.”

With a tender half-smile he said, “All the best women in my life are like compasses.” 

“Damn right we are.” 

“But speaking of _ retreating _,” Steve continued, picking up the pace again. “Where were you going just now?” 

She looked at the forest floor instead of his face when she said it: “Just needed a walk.” 

But here was the truth: she had seen a fawn, wobbly and alone, and chased after it. It was unnatural to see one so young without a herd nearby. How would animals even handle the Return? Would the fawn’s mother, wherever she was, even recognize its scent? Five years was a much longer time in the animal kingdom than it was for humans. Flocks and packs would’ve been separated with little chance of reunion now. 

She had come into these woods to save a damn deer, but the skittish creature had eluded her. It was likely a goner now. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Steve said to Barnes. Barnes didn’t miss a beat: “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.”

“He has a point,” Nat said as she hugged him too. 

“See you in a minute,” Steve said from the platform, with a wink aimed at her. There was a pop and he disappeared. 

Bruce fiddled with some buttons. “And returning in five, four, three, two, one—”

Nothing. 

“Where is he?” Sam asked Bruce. 

“I don’t know, he blew right by his time stamp.” 

Nat took a deep breath and tried to slow her heartbeat. If she were to lose another friend she’d go crazier than she feels already. More buttons. Still nothing. Barnes’ face fell. Yet there was something resolved in him. “He’s allowed to be selfish for once, okay?” 

“What the hell does _ that _ mean?” Sam asked, not bothering to hide his panic. Barnes opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted. 

There was another _ pop _ and Steve reappeared unscathed.

It was as if he’d never left at all. Except that he was holding a shield. How was he holding a shield? Nat didn’t want to _ bother _thinking about the implications of him holding a new shield. Time travel was bullshit. 

Bruce cheered triumphantly and Sam nearly tackled Steve with a hug as Steve jumped down from the platform. 

“Stones are back where they belong,” he reported. 

“You had me worried for a second there,” Nat said, relaxing. Everyone seemed relieved except Barnes. 

“Would it _ kill you _ to do something nice for yourself?” Barnes said argumentatively, completely ignoring the fact that other people were still present. “Seriously, would it kill you to let yourself be happy?”

“We got different ideas about what makes me happy.”

“Such a pain in the ass,” Barnes said. “I’m just tryin’ to look out for you, same as always.”

“Buck, I saw her, okay? We danced. And then she gave me some advice, and I’m gonna follow it. Isn’t that what you were always telling me? Do what Peggy fuckin’ says?”

Steve turned to Sam and held out the shield. “Here. This is yours now.” 

Sam stepped back like it might explode. _ “Why?” _

“Because I gotta do what Peggy says,” Steve said, handing it over. “And because you deserve it. I’m real tired, Sam. Can’t think of anyone better to carry this for me so I can go home.” 

Steve turned back to Barnes and it was as if everyone else disappeared again. “Brooklyn or Wakanda?”

Barnes narrowed his eyes. “Say again?”

“Brooklyn or Wakanda, pal. Your pick.” 

“Aw, hell,” Barnes said. His jaw clenched for a moment, really chewing on the question. “Brooklyn?” 

“Oh, thank God,” Steve exhaled, “I thought you were gonna pick Wakanda.”

_ “Hey _,” Barnes said defensively and maybe just to be contrarian, “It’s a real nice place.” 

“I didn’t make the nicest memories on my last trip there,” Steve said.

Nat thought back to the way Steve had let the ashes linger on his hands for days, refusing to wash them off. 

“I got some good memories of Brooklyn,” Barnes said concedingly, and that was that. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


“You can come with us,” Steve said later in the evening. “I’d love for you to come with us.” 

He was leaning up against his rental car in the dusk light, ready to go. Barnes was literally already asleep in the passenger seat, curled up like some stray, human-sized dog. She couldn’t even imagine how strange the past week had been for him, on top of the past _ century. _They deserved their peace and quiet. Well, whatever the New York City equivalent of peace and quiet was. It would be lovely. 

But Brooklyn was their home, not hers. 

Her home was always the next mission, and the one after that. 

“I’ll visit,” she said.

“You better.” 

He kissed the top of her head before climbing into the car. This wasn’t goodbye by any means. He’d undoubtedly text her as soon as they got to the city. They’d all probably see each other in a few weeks, a month tops. But it was still the end of an era. 

_ All good things must... _

She waved as the car pulled out of sight. 

Most of the funeral guests were already gone. Conversation had gone quiet. Recently-multiplied insects were making all the noise instead. When Fury approached she lost all sense of space and time. 

Because there he was, just like he had been, all eyepatch and sass and brilliance. She wondered how many people on earth were going to lose their minds after this, if they hadn’t already after the Snap. Nothing felt quite real anymore. Still, she couldn’t help but smile at it all. The absurdity. Her only father figure back from the dead. Fury smiled right back at her. 

“Do I work for _you_, or do you work for _me_?” Nat asked. There was a lot to sort out.

“I’ve reinstated myself as director,” he said, and Nat found she had no will or desire to fight him on that. Maybe there wasn’t much to work out at all. Assuming his role had only ever been out of necessity. She’d much rather be in the field. 

“Figured you could use a break after the last five years,” he continued. 

“Mostly I could use a drink. Or at least a new assignment.” 

“Well, that’s convenient,” Fury said, “Because I’ve got one for you. It’s low-risk, high-priority.” 

“Ah, my least favorite kind. No action, all wait?”

“Something like that. Hopefully.” 

“Great. Where we going?”

Fury cleared his throat. “Actually, you’re needed here.” 

“In the states?”

“No,_ here _ here,” he said, gesturing around them. “There’s just too much we don’t know right now. Too much _ I _ don’t know. Thanos had sympathizers, maybe. Last thing we need is them coming after the very people Stark died to protect.” 

She was facing the house from where she was standing. In the fading summer light stood a large wooden cabin right next to the Black River. In that cabin lived a former high-powered CEO turned Martha Stewart type, and her brilliant four year old daughter. 30 miles from Lake Ontario. Population less than 4,000. Farm animals. More snow than Alaska. Blueberry jam. 

The idea of living here was about as absurd as anything else that had happened recently. She liked Pepper well enough. They were friends, or at least friendly. Even after the mess with the Accords. Especially after the battlefield. 

“So I’m Pepper’s bodyguard?” Natasha clarified. 

“A bodyguard to the Earth’s— no, the _ galaxy _'s— most beloved hero’s family,” Fury corrected.

She couldn’t decide if this gig was a compliment or an insult. “No offense, but I’m a little overqualified for protection detail. Unless there’s something you’re not telling me.” 

“There always is, Romanov. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.” 

She studied the lines of his face. She had caught up to him a little in age and in wisdom. He was one of the few people in the world who could actually keep secrets from her successfully, but this was too obvious. She didn’t have to be a spy to figure him out. 

“You could just _ tell me _ you’re forcing me to take administrative leave. No need to dress it up.” 

Fury shook his head. “Pepper Potts is one of the most famous people in the world, and one of the wealthiest too—of course she needs more security now that Iron Man’s gone. Forget aliens. Any bored psychopath out there could try to kidnap Morgan Stark for ransom money. One of us is staying here, or Pepper’s going to be forced to hire a private team. I’d rather it be us. I’d rather it be _ you _.” 

“Because then I’ll have to slow down and make jam.” 

He raised his hands like he was under arrest. “Two birds, one house.” 

“Nick, cut the shit. I don’t need a sabbatical.” 

“Well, it’s the closest I can get to giving you one.” 

“Who says I need it?”

His eyes went somewhere else, lost in thought. He picked his words carefully: “When you first defected, Barton begged me to give you a break. He said you were just a kid. That you’d seen things no one should see. But I threw you right back out there, into the worst of it. I won’t do that again. You’ve had a long five years. Get some fresh air. Look out for Stark’s family. Go swimming or something. I think Clint would want this for you.” 

“Very subtle. I don’t feel manipulated at all.”

“Are you in?”

She had no place to go anyway. If this was the mission, this was the mission. She owed Clint and Tony that much. 

“I’m in.” 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


She stood in the doorway, unable to cross the threshold, just letting the cabin’s air conditioning spill out into the warm night behind her. 

Morgan was nowhere to be seen, which likely meant she’d been put to bed early. Pepper was just out of sight too, washing dishes in the kitchen sink with the water running loudly enough that she could miss Natasha’s entrance entirely, if that’s what Nat wanted. But that seemed wrong. 

Everything about this situation seemed wrong. She wasn’t supposed to be here. Here in this house or here at all. 

When the water turned off, she almost closed the door and made camp on the front porch instead. She could sleep in the barn. Anywhere but inside Pepper’s shattered happily ever after. 

There were light footsteps headed her way. 

“Happy?” Pepper called out, confused by the open door.

“Not exactly,” Nat answered back, revealing herself. “Given the circumstances.” 

Pepper startled herself with her own laugh. 

“Oh, thank _ God _ you said yes,” she said, relieved by the sight of her. “I was worried Fury was going to send that kid—what’s his name, Klein? I’m so glad it’s _ you _. Come in, come in.” 

Something between Natasha’s shoulder blades relaxed at that, and even more so when Pepper shut the door behind them and hugged her hello for what might be the third time today. If Nat were an intrusion, she was at least a welcome one, it would seem. 

Pepper was still wearing both her funeral dress and the damp smudges of mascara around her eyes. But she smiled gracefully all the same as she gave Nat the grand tour of the house. Four bedrooms upstairs, one of which was now Nat’s. Three bathrooms. A fireplace in the master and the living room. Real, hardwood floors with nicks and scuffs. Morgan’s toys strewn all over heavy, cozy rugs. 

“It’s beautiful,” Natasha said. 

“It really is,” Pepper agreed, leading them back to the kitchen. “We were so lucky to find it when we did. It’s been heaven here.” 

Pepper opened the fridge and pulled out not one but two bottles of chardonnay and set them on the counter. “Well, not today. Today’s been hell.” 

Nat would’ve preferred vodka, but she was too tired to be picky. “I’ll drink to that.”

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


They talked shop first. Possible threats, the ins and outs of Tony’s elaborate security systems, and the fingerprint tech on Natasha’s guns. 

Guns and a toothbrush were about all Nat had at this point, an idea that almost reduced Pepper to tears again. They would go shopping tomorrow for clothes and necessities. It would be fun for Morgan, Pepper said. Meanwhile Nat could borrow some clothes. Pepper requested that they put on pajamas, as if this were a sleepover, so they did and then came back downstairs. 

They talked shit next. Mostly about Steven Strange, because he was an asshole and the wine had gone to their heads. A few old Stark Industry names came up too, which Nat somehow remembered from her brief stint as Pepper’s employee. 

“You were the most competent assistant I ever had,” Pepper said.

“Experience in literal firefights really helps in the business world.” 

Pepper considered this. “I guess now I have experience in both.” 

“So which do you prefer? Boardroom or battlefield?”

“At this point I just prefer the barn,” Pepper said. 

“Yeah, you seem to have really found a knack for all this. Living off the land, growing things.”

“Oh, sure. It’s fascinating, biologically. I never knew I could be so interested in dirt. And the quiet is nice. Of course now I’m worried that it'll be...too quiet. Have I mentioned I’m glad you’re here?”

Natasha pulled her legs up underneath herself. They were seated comfortably on the couch. “Honestly, I thought this would be awkward.” 

“Oh, of course it’s awkward. My husband just died and so did your best friend and now you’re my bodyguard. We’ll figure out the boundaries as we go, I guess. Unless some planetary catastrophe kills us all tomorrow. Wouldn’t that be _ fun _.” 

Nat momentarily choked on her drink. “I didn’t know you were dark. How did I not know this about you?”

Pepper drained her glass and immediately started pouring herself another. “I think it’s the blonde hair and all the rule abiding.” 

They talked a little more about Pepper’s upbringing after that: private school, Connecticut, country clubs, happily married parents. They really couldn’t be more different. Pepper asked questions too, but Natasha had her sly way of answering without really answering. She wasn’t keen on talking about her own upbringing. Not from shame. It just tended to turn small talk into big talk— geopolitical talk—the fall of the damn wall. Being a child soldier tended to elicit shock or pity, not pleasant conversation. 

Finally when the bottles of wine were mostly empty, Pepper lulled her head back on the couch and closed her eyes and said, “I’ll be sleeping in the room next to yours, by the way. I can’t stay in the master bedroom anymore. Not sure what I’m going to do with it.” 

And with that, she fell asleep. Deeply and drunkenly asleep, with her lips slightly parted. She looked like Sleeping Beauty. Beautiful and vulnerable in a way that was almost hard to look at directly. Tony really did have expensive taste. She was exquisite. 

Natasha gently covered her with a cashmere blanket and headed upstairs with all the finesse of the slightly inebriated. She ran through survival scenarios in her head, as was her custom, protection detail or not. She counted exits one last time before crawling under the soft, white down comforter of the Stark’s guestroom and pulling out her phone to text Steve. 

Natasha: i live on a farm now 

Steve: What did I miss?

Natasha: fury assigned me to pepper and morgan

Steve: Really? 

Natasha: it’s his way of making me take a break 

Steve: Well deserved. When’s the last time you had some R&R?

Natasha: god, you would be on his side. hypocritically on his side 

Steve: Let me know if you ever need backup. 

Natasha: don’t know that i will. this place is a fortress with all the tech. literally a forcefield around the property. come visit anyway. goodnight, steve-o 

Steve: You know I hate that Steve-O shit. 

Natasha: indeed i do :)

  
  


When she rolled over onto her side she was extra thankful for the buzz of the wine, because she wasn’t sure she would be able to sleep without it. Dreams would not be her friend going forward. But before she could think of just how awful they might be tonight, she drifted off. 

It might’ve been for a few minutes or a few hours. Hard to tell. But the next thing she knew, someone was fumbling into her room. She sensed it before it even happened. Her body woke her, ready to fight if necessary. 

In the dark she could make out Pepper’s willowy form.

“Pepper?”

Pepper gasped. “Oh my God, I’m in the wrong room. Sorry. Sorry.” 

“It’s okay.” 

“Woke up on the couch. Now I’m lost in my own house.” 

“A whole bottle of wine will do that to you.” 

“Goodnight,” Pepper said groggily. 

“Goodnight, Pep.” 

Natasha immediately realized her mistake. Plenty of people called her that, but its origin was all Tony’s. She heard a distinct sniff. 

“I’d rather you not call me Pep.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Pepper assured, voice trembling. She wasn’t mad at all. “I need a new name,” was what she said next, mostly to herself, before slipping out of the room much more quietly than she came. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Life on the farm in the summertime went like this: 

Just about every morning Morgan would thump thump thump into her room excitedly, talking about the chickens. They would go collect the eggs together at sunrise and bring them back to Pepper, who would fry them in olive oil and salt and pepper and serve them with freshly baked bread. Gluten free, of course. It was crafted with almond flour and flaxseed and a bunch of other things Natasha didn’t realize could turn into bread. 

After breakfast Pepper would excuse herself to the Master Bedroom to cry for approximately an hour. She called this “visiting Tony.” Her therapist said it was very healthy. 

Natasha would usually take Morgan outside during these visits, to blow bubbles or jump rope. Sometimes Morgan wanted to play pretend, which usually involved tea parties but just as often entailed Morgan pretending to be her father, who would save every stuffed animal before dying, “Which was just like falling asleep but longer and braver.” 

Morgan’s therapist said this was very healthy. 

Natasha didn’t have a therapist, but she did have Tony’s garage, which was so much more than it seemed. Natasha would spend most of her afternoon down there. If you moved a particular wrench to the left, an entire basement would open up below. 

It was about the size of a damn Avenger’s facility. 

There was a lab, a gun-range, you name it. She could get a lot of work done down there and did so, everything from brainstorming with T’Challa about the new team to keeping tabs on Thor to consulting with Maria on SHIELD rebuilding business. Some days she just fired bullets at a target until her arm got sore. 

Pepper insisted on cooking elaborate dinners. Salads with spinach and cucumbers and juicy tomatoes plucked from the garden, topped with homemade red wine balsamic vinaigrette dressing. Vegetarian lasagna with pasta they made from scratch together, leaving huge messes across the kitchen. They devoured desserts that were impossible for Morgan to pronounce correctly, like tiramisu, panna cotta, and profiterole.

One time Natasha took a bite of crêpes Suzette and_ almost _ said aloud, “I could get used to living here.” Instead she smiled and excused herself from the table to slink off to the garage, because there was no getting used to anything and wasn’t all of Pepper’s furious cooking and baking just an outlet for the pain? She, Natalia Alianova Romanova , wouldn’t be eating crêpes Suzette if Tony were still alive. She was supposed to be _ with _ Tony, wherever he was. She was supposed to be in the ground. 

In the evenings, they swam. 

The river was too dangerous, but they enjoyed the lake every chance they could. Pepper would bring big fluffy cotton beach towels and the three of them would stretch out in bikinis to catch the last of the sun for the day. 

Pepper would bring organic grape juice for Morgan and very much alcoholic grape juice for herself and Nat. They didn’t get drunk like they did the night of the funeral, but they still had themselves a good time regularly. 

“I’m such a wine mom,” Pepper said that particular evening. It was true. Pepper was very much an obscenely rich wine mom. But she was also the most generous, kind, industrious, and thoughtful person Nat had ever met. Sharp as a tack too. 

“I never used to let myself drink more than two days in a row,” Pepper continued. “I was so worried about my skin.” 

“What’s wrong with your skin, Mommy?” Morgan asked. 

“Nothing sweetie. Aging is a gift. A GIFT,” she said loudly. “I spent so much time so worried about everything. Life’s too short for that shit.” 

“That’s a bad word,” Morgan scolded. 

“So?” Pepper said. “It’s okay to say bad words, sweetie. Let’s all say it. One, two, three—” 

“SHIT,” they all screamed, especially Natasha. A small flock of birds on the water flew away, offended. 

“But I can’t say it at school, right?”

Pepper nodded. “Correct. No swearing at school.” 

Next week was Morgan's first day of kindergarten. She already had her outfit picked out and everything. 

It was an absurdly overpriced Montessori school in Watertown, yet it still seemed so common and well, _ normal _ for one of the world’s richest families. But that’s how Pepper preferred it. She’d grown up around snobs, you see. She wanted better for her own child. 

“As soon as I can touch my money, I’m giving it away to the teachers.” 

Pepper, ever worried that she might make grief-fueled spending mistakes, had frozen the major of her accounts for several months. 

“There’s just no reason anyone should have billions of dollars,” she said, cheeks a little pink from the heat and the conviction of her belief. “I love Tony but he had a disease. Nobody needs this much money, even if they do good things with it. I swear I’m giving it all away.” 

Morgan’s tiny forehead furrowed. “But what if we get poor?”

“Oh, honey—don’t worry. We could literally never be poor.” 

Natasha didn’t know where it came from. It was quick and inexplicable, like heat lightning: a memory from childhood. Not really a moment so much as a feeling. A tangible, excruciating feeling. The feeling of starving. Her whole body remembered and turned brittle. She looked at Morgan and remembered that when she was that age, her family was so bad off that they left her at an orphanage. 

She remembered the snow and the feeling of starvation and found it difficult to breathe. 

“Natasha?”

Nat put her hand to her chest. “I’m—I’m fine.” 

“You sure?”

Pepper clearly wasn’t buying it but didn’t press the issue. Nat focused on deep breaths through her nose. She wasn’t sure what was more unnerving: the memory itself or the fact that she couldn’t play it off. It wasn’t like her. It wasn’t like her at all. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Are you sad about my dad?” asked Morgan. “Or maybe you’re sad about Hot Guy.”

Pepper flinched and flushed with embarrassment. “Morgan—His name is _ Hawkeye _, and it’s not polite to pry.” 

“Where do you go to visit Hawkguy?” Morgan continued innocently. “Mommy visits daddy in their old room. I do too sometimes. There’s pictures of him everywhere and candles.” 

“It’s not a shrine, I swear,” Pepper explained. “I’ve turned the master into a meditation room. You’re welcome to use it.” 

“Maybe I will,” Natasha said, although the thought horrified her. 

“I wanna get back in the water,” Morgan whined. “Can I?”

“Not by yourself,” said Pepper.

Nat jumped up, welcoming the distraction. “I’ll take her.” 

Morgan bolted for the water and Nat trailed behind, thankful for the excuse to move around and walk off her panic. The cool water on her feet helped. As did the splashes on her whole body, courtesy of Morgan. Natasha splashed her right back. 

“Hey, I have a question,” Morgan announced. 

“Shoot.” 

“Do you like it here?” she asked hesitantly. 

“Course I do,” Nat assured her. “This is the nicest place I’ve ever lived.” It wasn’t a lie. Morgan smiled. This was clearly the answer she was hoping for. 

“How long are you gonna stay with me?”

“I’m really not sure,” Nat explained. “I’m here to keep you safe. So far there haven’t been any problems.” 

“That’s because the bad guys know you’re here. They’re scared of you I bet.” 

“I am pretty scary,” said Natasha in a monster voice. She started chasing Morgan around the shallows, kicking up as much water as she could. Morgan shrieked and giggled until she made a break for the shore. Nat turned to watch Pepper wrapping Mogan up in her towel. 

It wasn’t jealousy exactly, the feeling that seized her. She didn’t begrudge this family its affluence or affection for each other. This was the way life should be: enough to go around, whether it be love or attention or bread or safety. But it illuminated her own lack as a child so starkly it was devastating. Their love— this home— it was like staring at the sun. 

Their way of life was worth protecting, whatever the cost. Right now the cost was mostly just a deep sense of uselessness. Other than the desk work she’d made for herself to stay busy, she didn’t have much to show for the summer. No new scars or bruises. She missed the _ calm _ that came with field work and fights, the silence in her brain when there was an explosion just around the corner or a mark to be hunted. She missed it as badly as she missed Clint, because without it all she could think of was Clint. 

All this quiet and domesticity was going to be her undoing if she wasn’t careful. Is this what Fury wanted, for her to unravel? 

“LOOK,” Morgan yelled, pointing to the treeline. Nat and Pepper’s heads snapped in that direction. 

It was a herd of deer, at least seven of them. They spooked and flitted off into the woods at the sound of Morgan’s voice. 

There was not a fawn in sight. 

  
  
  


*

  
  


The night ended the same way it had just about every night that summer. Once Morgan was in bed, Pepper put on Grey’s Anatomy and sat on the couch and beckoned Nat to join her, even though she readily admitted the show was “ridiculous.” 

“I really am the epitome of basic, aren’t I?” Pepper asked, curling up closer than usual. Their knees were practically touching. 

“There’s nothing wrong with being basic, but you are the furthest thing from basic. You literally punched Thanos in the face a few months ago. I don’t even know why you need me. You’re Iron Woman.” 

“Good point. Except I _ do _ need you. I very much need you. There’s strength in numbers.” 

She pressed play on the episode and then immediately pressed stop again. “I’m sorry about Morgan earlier,” she said. 

“She’s curious,” Natasha shrugged. “I get it.” 

“She thinks...well, she has it in her head that Clint was your husband. Since you’re called Black Widow. All of this is very confusing for her. I don’t think she can wrap her head around being best friends with a boy, let alone human mortality.” 

“In her defense, both are very complex things.”

Pepper stopped pulling at her sleeve and looked Natasha right in the eyes with a warm, raw openness. “How _ are _ you doing? If you don’t mind me asking. I feel like you know so much about me but…sometimes I’m not sure how to be there for you. Or if you want me to be.”

“I want that,” Nat finally said, gaze fixed despite herself. “I would, I’m just…” 

“A Cristina,” Pepper finished, referencing the most badass and emotionally closed-off surgeon on Grey’s Anatomy. It fit. Nat couldn’t decide if it was a compliment or not. 

“Cristina is my _ favorite _,” Pepper announced. “She just does intimacy differently than most people.” 

So it _ was _ a compliment. “Yeah, historically attachment hasn’t gone well for me.” 

“Well,” Pepper said brightly, “There’s more life ahead to change that. Unless terrorists kill us tomorrow or something.”

“I could use a fight with a terrorist right about now.” 

“I know—you must feel so restless. I’d apologize that our lifestyle isn’t all that exciting, but that was kind of the point. Although I’d love to learn how to spar. You could teach me. I mean I’m typically against violence but sometimes it’s necessary to defend yourself. Plus it would be good exercise. I’m getting so sick of yoga. It’s just not a challenge anymore. Oh God—I’m still talking about myself. I have to stop.” 

Pepper was adorable when she ranted. Once again she pressed play on the episode and then pressed stop again.

“Just tell me one thing,” she said. “One thing about _ you. _Tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.” 

“I’m left handed,” Nat supplied quickly. 

“I definitely already knew that. I’m freakishly observant.” 

Natasha could count on one hand the number of people she goodly and truly trusted: Clint, Steve, Hill, Fury. But as she sat there with Pepper, thinking back to the day they met over a decade ago, she realized that Pepper indeed made the list too without Nat even being cognizant of it. She’s not sure when the crossover happened. It might’ve happened while fighting Thanos together, or all the way back when they were taking on Justin Hammer’s idiocy. It might’ve happened just now. 

“Okay, here’s one,” Nat conceded, “my favorite gun is a Glock 26.”

Pepper reviewed this information. She must’ve found it acceptable, because she smiled, let her shoulder bump against Nat’s, and said, “Thank you. That will be all for now,” before finally pressing play on the TV again. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


The next night she said the same thing. “Tell me one thing I don’t know about you.” 

“My eyes are green.” 

“Try again.” 

“I’m 5’3.” 

“Practically a midget.” 

“We can’t all be amazon women like you.”

  
  
  


*

  
  


The night after that Pepper said, “Tell me one thing about yourself,” and Nat thought for a moment back to the orphanage, and to the Red Room after that. It was some sort of universal rule that girls liked to whisper late at night about silly things, no matter their age. There was something familiar about this game. 

“That whole thing with me and Bruce…”

Pepper sat up attentively, waiting for a good story. 

“...It was an assignment. We had to figure out a way to keep The Hulk with us. It backfired spectacularly. I felt awful about it for a long time.” 

“Does Bruce know?”

“He does now. We managed to salvage the friendship.” 

“Honestly, now that you say that, it makes sense. You two always seemed a little off.”

“Well, there are other reasons for that too.” 

Pepper leaned forward, expectant. This was sort of fun. Nat gave her a mischievous smile. “Until next time.” 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Next time there was wine involved. 

“Tell me one th—”

“I’m a lesbian.” 

Pepper froze and then smacked her own forehead, as if something was falling into place.

“Of _ course. _ That’s why Clint’s wife didn’t seem to mind you galvanting with her husband.” 

“Oh, she_ minded _,just not for that reason. He was like my brother.” 

“Your twin.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You want to talk more about that?”

“No.”

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


The night before Morgan’s first day of kindergarten, Pepper didn’t ask any questions, because she was sobbing on the couch, curled up into a ball, with the TV remote thrown across the room. 

Nat wasn’t great at receiving affection but she knew how to give it. She tried. She sat down beside Pepper and took her hand. 

“I miss him too,” she said, and then, “I miss them too.” 

Pepper sobbed loudly enough that Morgan woke up and ran downstairs. Morgan curled up in Nat’s lap and buried her head in Nat’s chest and cried too. Nat tried to let herself but no tears fell. She was numb and dry and it didn’t matter anyway. 

All three of them crashed in the living room that night, too worn down with sadness to move. They were too exhausted to do anything but cling to each other.

  
  



	2. Fall

**FALL**

Pepper sat slumped and very still at the kitchen table, enjoying the quiet. Morgan and Natasha were out gathering eggs, a routine they insisted on keeping even with the advent of a new school year. It just meant getting up earlier. It was still dark outside. Light was once again diminishing and the leaves had noticed and followed suit. 

She smoothed her oversized grey knit sweater. The mug of coffee in front of her was still too hot to drink, even with all the cream, so she watched the tendrils of steam swirl above it instead, mesmerized. She didn’t used to pause for little details like this. Not before moving here and certainly not before Tony passed away. 

She’d always expected that if he were to die, she would cease to see colors or feel joy. Yet the exact opposite happened—everything was dialed up a notch now, joy and pain and autumn colors, because the sheer brevity of life was constantly on her mind. The fragility and excruciating wonder of it. Knowing how quickly and easily it could all end made her want to seize the day in ways that sometimes scared her. She wanted everything from the human experience. Especially considering how cautious she’d been in the past: a worry wart. 

The amount of _aliveness_ buzzing under her skin caused her, on more than one occasion, to ask her therapist if she was diagnosably manic. 

“Not clinically, no,” her therapist had said. Pepper could still sleep. She wasn’t spending large sums of money and had actually taken precautions against doing so. She wasn’t jumpy or wired. Instead of racing thoughts, she mostly just had boundless gratitude for the most inane things: a basket of fresh picked apples on the counter, her cozy scarf that still smelled like Tony, a perfectly warm slice of pumpkin bread. 

“It’s like you want to live for two now,” her therapist had remarked. “You’re trying to savor what he’s not here to see.” 

“That’s exactly it,” Pepper had confirmed, bawling her eyes out at the truth of it. Tony had given her a gift and she intended to honor it. Anything less would be ungrateful. 

But she couldn’t go too crazy, of course. She had Morgan to think about. Kids need routine and stability and for their moms to not make rash, stupid decisions. It was a delicate balance to live fully without living recklessly. She indulged in simple acts of spontaneity, the stuff she missed in her younger days because she was too busy trying to be perfect. Like getting a tattoo, for example.

The tattoo was of an arc reactor. “Right between the titties,” as Natasha said. Nat had held her hand during the whole ordeal, distracting and encouraging as needed. 

And then of course there was the business of chopping off her long sleek hair in favor of a funky, messy bob, something she’d always wanted to try. She’d cried when she saw it in the salon mirror. Not because she hated it, but because she could’ve always looked like this but she’d been too scared to go for it until now. 

It was a constant internal battle to reel herself in for her daughter’s sake. Part of her wanted to smoke cigarettes and move back to Southern California and steal Tim Cook’s job and another part of her wanted to continue being a responsible mother in this humble house. Wouldn’t leaving it damage Morgan even more? It was all Morgan knew. This place was heaven, or at least it used to be. Now Pepper couldn’t stop thinking about a different heaven. 

She didn’t know she believed in an afterlife until the moment Tony died and she felt him still with her. With her in another way. It was practically instantaneous: He was in front of her dying and then he was beyond her and above her and within her all at once. She knew in that moment that one day she’d join him and it would feel like no time passed between them. 

Until then, there was work to be done and a whole spectrum of experiences in this body to embrace, even if one of those experiences was grief. 

She’d been trying and failing and searching for the right metaphor for it. Grief was a shipwreck, a weight, a cave—nothing seemed to accurately explain her feelings. 

She still cried so much. At anything and everything. Understandable moments, like Morgan’s first day of school, or when she’d think of Tony’s touch, or anticipating the first Thanksgiving without him. But she also cried at random times, like when she’d see a cardinal in the yard, or Natasha combing Morgan’s hair. Tiny, natural moments felt much more holy now. 

She’d turned her master bedroom into a temple, more or less. It was practically an interfaith church. She’d considered replacing the windows with stained glass. Not that praying was the only thing she did in there. Her sanctuary was plenty pagan; it was her favorite place to masturbate. She liked to imagine Tony enjoying the view. 

The idea of sex with anyone else still seemed like betryal, although her vulnerablity and loneliness made her crave it more than expected. She knew now why widows and widowers had a tendency to remarry so fast. It wasn’t about replacing a loved one. It was about survival. Your life was always going to be broken and wrong going forward. Finding any amount of happiness was a victory and worth seizing. 

She wasn’t in that place exactly, but she could understand it. She’d toyed around with the notion of Tinder. In the end there was no point: she was famous, famously a widow, and casual sex just wasn’t an option. The nasty headlines alone were worth avoiding. The only man who’d been bold enough to ask her out thus far was Elon Musk via a laughably elaborate bouquet of roses.

“Do you want me to kill him?” Natasha had asked. She’d sounded serious. 

“It’s not like anyone would _miss_ him,” replied Pepper, stuffing the flowers down the sink and turning on garbage disposal. 

In her heart of hearts she knew that finding sex, let alone love, was probably a wasted effort after Tony. It was all downhill after him. No man could compare. Although she did have the occasional wild thought about Bruce. A non-green Bruce. Well, sometimes he was green. His current condition confused her and so did her fantasies. 

The fact was, she had wild thoughts about a lot of people, actually. Desires that were obviously grief-induced. Urges that merely showed how lonely she was, because they were...uncharacteristic of her. They contradicted everything she knew about herself. They thrilled her and woke her in the middle of the night panting, lower belly burning with desire for new experiences. 

It was all simply a misfiring. A symptom of her broken heart trying to reassemble itself. A longing for distraction. But some lines just wouldn’t—and couldn’t—be crossed. She didn’t bother telling her therapist about it. The haze of it would lift soon, surely. 

She raised her mug to her lips and found that the coffee had settled to just the right temperature for sipping. All things tend to cool down, given enough time. Or at least she certainly hoped so. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  
  


To Do:

  1. Return library books

  2. Schedule vet appointment for Birtha Cluck Cluck 

  3. Order more outdoor faucet covers 

  4. Restock pantry

  5. Finish laundry

  6. Buy thank you gift for Morgan’s undercover agent at school 

  7. <strike>Invite him to dinner?</strike>

  8. <strike>Get your mind out of the gutter</strike>

  9. <strike>He’s practically half your age</strike>

  10. Marinate chicken 

  11. Mop mud room (AGAIN)

  12. Sew button back on Nat’s coat for her

  13. Pick up shipment from the feed & seed 

  14. Throw out dead ant farm after Morgan officiates its funeral 

  15. Buy another ant farm 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  


It was early afternoon when Pepper decided to tackle the gardens for what might be the last time for the year. The broccoli and leeks were ready. As were more carrots. The turnips showed no signs of life, but that was alright—it’s not like Morgan was going to eat them. The turnips could stay in the ground. 

That’s one thing Pepper had learned from the dirt: you can do everything right and some seeds just don’t grow. Meanwhile the ones you haphazardly plant can take over the plot. There was just no telling what nature might do. Unseen forces could be working for or against you. An early frost, extra rain, the perfect sunny day: miracles or disasters, each of them, depending on the crop or plant. 

Today was damp and cloudy and cold enough for a hat. Unseasonably warm for the area, but still pretty damn cold. She pulled on one of Tony’s old beanies and set to work, plucking vegetables from the wet earth with chicken pot pies on her mind. She could bake a whole wheat crust. 

When her basket was full, she moved on to the small greenhouse. 

To her surprise, it was filled with endless amounts of white asters. She hadn’t checked in here in a while and the sight of these little daisy-like flowers everywhere shocked her into a smile. It was like a snowfall covering all the flower pots. She knew it was possible for them to bloom in fall, but she didn’t expect this. 

She picked a flower and put in behind her ear. 

Maybe these would last until Thanksgiving. Although a hard freeze was always a risk. If they survived, they’d make for nice centerpieces. They were certainly prettier than the Halloween decorations. 

Halloween had been a certifiable disaster this year. She and Natasha had tried to surprise Morgan with a house full of pumpkins and spiderwebs and spooky creatures, only to have Morgan take one look and burst into hysterics. 

“I don’t like it! It’s icky!” she’d screamed. 

It only got worse from there. 

They’d gone trick-or-treating in a nearby neighborhood only to see some dumb teenager dressed up like Dead Iron Man. Morgan had made a scene, then people realized who she was, and a curious mob formed. People took out their phones. Natasha actually reached for her taser at one point. 

Needless to say, the holidays weren’t going well so far. 

Thanksgiving was another question mark. She’d been invited months ago to stand on the Avengers’ float at the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, a tradition that started all the way back in 2012 and ended with the Decimation. This year it was back, and they were adding an Iron Man balloon. 

Tony would have loved to be a balloon. Pepper could practically hear him laughing giddily, thrilled by the idea of something so outlandish and stupid and theatrical. He would’ve been all over this. It’s truly a wonder he didn’t instigate it himself in the past. 

There was the more practical possibility of a quiet Thanksgiving, maybe with a few friends and her parents. Just like last year, and the four years before it, except now Tony wouldn’t be there. What was worse: his empty seat at the kitchen table, or millions of his mourning fans watching her through the TV? 

Either one had its pitfalls and the potential to scar Morgan for life. There was really no good option. Pepper grabbed one of the many flower pots and carried it inside, along with the rest of the day’s bounty. 

  
  
  


*

  
  


“I don’t know what to do about Thanksgiving,” Pepper said dejectedly that night. She pulled the flower out of her hair and twirled it around in her fingers absently. 

“We could skip it,” Nat suggested, “We can pretend it’s not happening. Turkey isn’t that good anyway.”

“Oh, do you not like it? Maybe I could make a ham instead. Or cornish hens.” 

Nat laughed at that. “Ever the hostess. I swear you’d be worried about feeding everyone at your own funeral.”

“I guess we could go to a restaurant. Keep it low-key.” 

“Now you’re talking.” 

“I want Jamaican food,” Pepper groaned. “But we can’t get that around here. I wish we could go someplace tropical.” 

“Uh, we can,” Nat said, looking at Pepper like Pepper forgot the answer to two plus two. “We can totally do that. You have a private jet sitting on a tarmac at Fort Drum. Let’s go to the carribean.” 

“Oh, we couldn’t,” Pepper said. 

They could, of course, but Pepper had managed to keep Morgan off the private jet for the entirety of her life and she wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. She didn’t mind exposing Morgan to a little bit of the superhero stuff —there was no avoiding that. But they didn’t have to act like billionaires. She’d much rather Morgan see what her father meant to the world. Flitting off and using jet fuel on a whim seemed so selfish in comparison to other options. Or maybe that was the wine talking. 

“There’s always the parade,” Pepper sighed, because she couldn’t let the idea go, apparently. It plagued her. “I haven’t given them a real answer yet.” 

“Okay, that is the exact opposite of pretending like it’s not Thanksgiving.” 

Nat had a point. It was the exact opposite of pretending like Tony wasn’t gone. It would be like staring it in the face. But she was already doing that, every single day. 

“You used to do the parade sometimes,” Pepper pointed out. 

“That was a long time ago,” Nat said. She took the flower out of Pepper’s hand and tucked it behind her own ear. It was distracting. 

“The parade is very cheesy,” Pepper continued, trying to refocus.

“Beyond cheesy.” 

“Tony loved cheesy though. In that ironic sort of way.” 

Nat nodded. “That’s true. He did. He did love a spectacle. But what do _you_ love?” 

“Morgan,” Pepper said out of reflex. “I want to do what’s best for her. I’m just not sure what that is in this case.” 

“Okay, talk me through it.” 

“I’ve turned down so many magazine interviews—_People, Time,_ you name it. The press are after me. Part of me wants to throw them a bone with this so they get off my back. Do the parade. Answer a few questions.”

“It’s not a bad strategy, but it could backfire,” Nat summarized pensively. She didn’t look happy about it so much as resigned. 

Pepper wasn’t sure where it all came from but she was suddenly bursting out of her skin with something despite her better judgement. She had been puttering around the gardens today avoiding thinking about but she couldn’t now. She shocked herself as she said it: “I could wear the suit Tony made for me, make a whole big thing of it.”

“You really want that?”

It all came tumbling out of her: “No, what I want is for him to still be alive. What I want is for him to be here right now. But I know I’m not the only one who misses him. I’m not the only one who loved him. I mean, screw any fan who feels entitled to him or to me or Morgan—that’s not what I’m saying. I’m definitely not obligated to smile and wave in a parade in his honor. But part of me wants to. 

So many people are still scared after what happened. Tony was my husband but he’s also a symbol. Maybe I could give them hope like he did.” 

Natasha didn’t say anything for a beat. She blew out a breath. “You know, you could give Steve a run for his money with the inspirational speeches.” 

“It’s just the pinot, I swear. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” 

Natasha bit her lip, considering. “I’ll come with you to the city. Of course I will—it’s kind of my job. I don’t know if I can get up there on a float with you, but I’ll be there.” 

Pepper wanted to tread lightly here. She suspected the reason for Nat’s hesitation, beyond parades just being silly. But the look in Nat’s eyes told her that tonight wasn’t the night to ask any more questions about it. 

“So you _don’t_ mind coming?” 

Nat snapped out of it and gave her a sly grin. “Of course not. Who knows...maybe I’ll get to fight somebody. Way higher chances of a skirmish in the city than here, that’s for sure.”

“Well,” Pepper said, “That’s comforting. _God_—what am I going on and on about? We can’t go to the parade. It would _traumatize_ Morgan. All those people.” 

“We could always just...ask her.” 

“That’s—oh my god, you’re right. I’ll just ask her what she wants to do.” 

Pepper drained her glass and tried very hard not to burst into tears, because being a mother was quite possibly the most stressful thing in the entire world, and she’d been a personal assistant to Steve Jobs once, and punched Thanos in the face. 

Nat looked at her slantwise. Concerned. “Hey,” she said softly. “Tell me one thing. One thing I don’t know about you.” 

An old game. Nat had been turning it around on her lately. Pepper sniffed. “Sometimes I hate being a mom. I love Morgan, but sometimes I hate being her mom. I feel like a monster for saying it.” 

“You could’ve fooled me — and that’s saying something. I’m trained to read people. You seem like you love it.” 

“I love it most of the time. I even love the stuff most people hate. But it’s the pressure. It gets to me. Especially now. There’s no way I won’t screw this up.” 

“Every parent screws up their kids. But dead dad trumps anything else. When she looks back at her childhood, anything you do will pale in comparison to that. That’s the thing she’ll be talking about in therapy, not the fact you got a tattoo and cut your hair and drink wine. You can afford to fuckup a lot more than ruining Thanksgiving. _A lot._”

Pepper put her head in her hands. “I’m being a perfectionist again, aren’t I?”

“Some people can’t help it.” 

Pepper groaned. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


To Do:

  1. Place hold at library (The Whole Brained Child)

  2. Replace light fixtures in meditation room

  3. Practice using the suit

  4. Sparring session with Nat

  5. Check on bee hives

  6. <strike>Book hotel in NYC</strike>

  7. <strike>Book Airbnb in NYC</strike>

  8. Talk to Morgan about NYC

  9. <strike>MOVE BACK TO MALIBU </strike>

  10. Finish Morgan’s pilgrim costume for class play 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


When it was all said and done, Morgan did not want to go to the parade, nor did she want to stay home. She wanted to go to McDonald’s for Thanksgiving. 

Natasha was delighted while Pepper was bewildered (but agreeing). She supposed there were worse things for a child than a Happy Meal. Morgan had never actually eaten one before. 

“It’s an unconventional choice for the holidays, but why not? Cheeseburgers for everyone,” Pepper prattled to her therapist. They were fitting in one last session before the holiday via computer screen. 

Her therapist, normally so impartial, squinted in quiet disapproval. 

Pepper felt defensive of her parenting choices all the sudden. “She eats healthy 99% of the time. It won’t kill her.” 

Her therapist, grey-haired and wise, shook off this comment. “Oh, McDonald’s is fine. I’m just shocked you’d give up what you want so easily.” 

“Isn’t that what parenting is about?”

Her therapist cleared her throat and starting throw up fingers one by one. “It goes like this: your child’s needs, your needs, your wants, her wants. In that order of importance. Her wanting McDonald’s does not trump your need to grieve in solidarity with the city of New York.” 

“I don’t know if I really need that. I don’t know. Most of the time I can only think about what she needs.” 

“Parade or no parade, what Morgan needs most is a mother who is fulfilled in life. Lately you’ve expressed a pretty serious lack of contentment with the way things are.” 

“That’s not—I like the ways things are. I mean, I know I’ve complained recently—but when you say it like _that_—”

She faltered. 

“Shit,” she finally said, starting to cry as usual. Every single session without fail. It was obnoxious. She took a deep breath and felt herself vomit up the words: “I just feel so guilty for needing more. I keep having these dreams where I’m—I’m flying —and we live somewhere else— somewhere busy and exciting and I never cook a damn thing. How can I want the opposite of what used to make me so happy? I was content here before, I really was. This was my dream life. But it’s not anymore. I woke up to something else.”

“The variables changed. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with wanting a quiet life with your husband. And wanting a different life now that he’s gone—it doesn’t mean you didn’t love it before. It’s not a betrayal.”

“This is all Morgan’s ever known. Chickens and a mom who stays home and makes her own soap.” 

“You can still make soap if you’d like. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.” 

“It feels that way.” 

“You could move somewhere else and still make soap.” 

Pepper punctuated the conversation with the sound of blowing her nose into a tissue. “I’m not ready to even think about moving.” 

“Don’t think about moving yet. Just think about doing more and more of what makes you feel alive and whole again. That’s your homework, okay? Would doing the parade make you feel more aligned with your values?”

She started to sob again. “I can’t do it,” she said, defeated. “I want to, but I can’t yet. Maybe next year.”

Her therapist nodded encouragingly. “I think just acknowledging all of this is a good step. You’re being honest with yourself. You’re admitting there are things you want in the future, things that are bigger than your current life. That’s progress.” 

“Is it?”

“Absolutely. I’m just glad you want anything at all. A lot of clients in your situation just completely shut down. And that’s valid too, for a time. But you’re already letting life back in. That’s good.” 

She wiped her face on Tony’s old scarf, feeling both hideous and ridiculous. There was so much back and forth in her heart it was giving her whiplash. She’d never been so indecisive. She wanted to shave off the rest of her hair and climb Mount Everest and never leave this house again. 

“I feel like I’m going crazy,” Pepper admitted. 

“Death will do that to a person.” 

“Sometimes I feel like...I died too.” 

“You did. In a lot of ways you did. You’re giving birth to an entirely new way of life now.”

“_Labor pains_,” Pepper muttered, because she finally understood that she was pushing without an epidural: of course it hurt like hell. Of course it came in waves. Contractions. There was her metaphor. What she needed to do most was devour any oxytocin she could find and breathe. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


To Do: 

  1. Book meditation retreat 

  2. Sell bees back to the Clampitt farm

  3. Sparring session with Nat

  4. Weight lifting with Nat

  5. Buy a microwave 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


On the morning of Thanksgiving she woke up expecting to cry like crazy, but she didn’t cry at all. She didn’t cry because she felt hyper-connected to Tony. It was like he wasn’t even gone. It wasn’t denial. Tony was with her in spirit and it was Thanksgiving and she needn’t bawl her eyes out. As an extra blessing from the universe, Morgan snuck into her room and cuddled up in bed with her. 

“Can I get chicken nuggets and a cheeseburger today?”

She stroked Morgan’s hair. “Yes, baby. All the processed food you want.” 

She was not going to cook or clean a single thing today and the thought filled her with a relief so deep she started laughing. Happy and Rhodey were going to stop by later and she had no intention of offering them anything more than leftover McDonald’s or wine. 

Morgan sat up in bed happily and then inexplicably screamed, “MISS NATASHA!” so loudly that Pepper almost screamed herself in reaction. 

Nat came charging in, so powerfully and commanding that Pepper almost missed the fact she was still wearing pajamas. She looked like she could take on anything in that moment, even in yoga pants. 

“We’re cuddling,” Morgan said to her, quite pleasantly, like she was totally innocent and incapable of shrieking. “You can cuddle too.” 

Nat and Pepper looked at each other with exasperation. It quickly turned into them trying not to laugh. Nat rolled her eyes and plopped onto and then crawled into the bed. Together they made a parenthesis around Morgan, who looked more content than Pepper could recall. 

“I like having a mom and a Natasha-mom,” she said. “If daddy were still here maybe he could marry you both.” 

“In his dreams,” Natasha said, looking up at the ceiling, like Tony could hear her. Morgan rambled about chicken nuggets for about ten minutes before falling back asleep, sprawled out on them both. They were pinned. 

It was nice, honestly, especially since Nat didn’t seem to mind it either. It was strange how un-strange it felt to be this intimate with each other, limbs overlapping in places. Their feet were touching under the duvet and the warmth was soothing to say the least. 

“Still not too late to change your mind,” Nat whispered. “That suit of yours basically lets you travel at light speed. Think of the entrance you could make.”

“Next year,” Pepper said again. They’d talked about the parade at length yesterday: maybe Pepper going, maybe Nat staying with the baby. But this was all Pepper could handle today, as it turned out, and that was alright. All that back and forth had been for nothing when it came down to it. 

“I guess they’ll survive without us,” Nat said. “Steve lost a bet to Sam Wilson. He’s gotta stand on the float. I’m very happy about it.” 

“How is he?”

“Steve? Happier than I’ve ever known him. Why?”

“I was thinking about inviting him today. But I didn’t know if I should. His roommate…Well, I wanted to invite him too, but I wasn’t sure how awkward it would be. You know.” 

“Because he murdered your in-laws?” 

“Yes,_ that_.” 

“Potentially strains pleasant conversation.” 

Pepper rubbed at her temples. It wasn’t the easiest topic. “I just wish he knew how badly Tony felt about everything later. And that I read his files and I know it wasn't his fault. What they did to him was unfathomable. It wasn’t his fault.” 

“What files were these?”

Pepper shrugged. “Tony kept a lot of files. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to have them, I don’t know. But he wasn’t the only one who knew how to hack or decrypt in our partnership.” 

Nat’s eyebrows went up and she smiled an impish sort of smile. “You’ve been holding out on me. Pepper Potts: computer genius.” 

“Just don’t tell anyone.’

“So what’ve you read about me?”

Pepper stalled, mind reeling. 

Here is what she knew about Natasha Romanoff: 

For starters, that was an anglicisation. Her real name was Natalia, which Pepper found just as lovely if not more so. Natalia was roughly ten years younger than Pepper.

She hummed haunting Russian lullabies in the shower. 

Her favorite gun was a Glock 26. 

She once fake-dated Bruce Banner.

She was a lesbian. 

Clint Barton was like her brother and she didn’t know how to grieve him. 

She let her hair grow out all summer. No more blonde ends these days. Just long red layers that cascaded down her back. She liked her coffee black. Her eyes were sea green.

She knew just how to coax Morgan into finishing her vegetables. 

She was only 5’3. Petite and lethal. 

Lethal because she’d been taught and forced to kill probably around the same time she’d started her first period. 

Her kill list was extensive. 

Red Room. Forced sterilization. KGB. Ballerina. Assassin. What they did to her was unfathomable too. 

“I read about some rough stuff,” Pepper finally said, coming clean. “But nothing that would make me trust you less. As an agent or as a friend.” 

Natalia’s expression was unreadable for a moment. “You sound like Steve sometimes.” 

“I should’ve invited him.” 

“Well, he’s a little busy today. Sam’s got him wearing that original costume from the 40s. The one he hates. It’s gonna be quite a show.” 

“Do you think…” Pepper whispered, “Do you think they asked Laura to be a part of it?” The whole Barton family was fresh on her mind. They were in the same boat in a lot of ways. 

“It wouldn’t make sense,” Nat winced. “Nobody knew Clint had a family.” 

“That’s right,” Pepper remembered faintly.

Nat elaborated: “Nobody really knows exactly how he died either. Just that it was in service to the cause. Well, Laura knows. She knows he picked me over seeing her again. That’s why she can barely talk to me.” 

“That’s absurd. That can’t possibly be how it happened.” 

“That’s how she sees it. I know that’s how she sees it. And she’s not wrong. To get the stone. It came down to him or me. Only one of us could live. We fought. He won. I don’t know why he wanted to win.”

“He wanted to save his family,” Pepper said, because it was obvious. “His _whole_ family.” 

Nat’s eyes watered at that. She blinked it back at first but then succumbed. “Damnit,” she whispered. She seemed surprised. She seemed perplexed by her own ability to experience basic emotions. Pepper fought the desire to swoop in, to swoop her up and hold her. But Nat was not a person who seemed to know how to be held by anyone but herself. She simply nestled down with her head slightly resting on Pepper’s shoulder and closed her leaking eyes.

“I’m going to try to make a pumpkin pie today,” she murmured eventually. “Don’t try to help me.” 

“Oh, that’s a deal. I’m thinking about taking a break from cooking for a while anyway.” 

“What are you gonna do instead?”

“I’ll think of something. Something more selfish. Something just for me.” 

“That’s the spirit.”

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Later that day, after the pie and the french fries, an unexpected four feet of snow fell, burying every roof and road in sight. And that night, after all the chardonnay, Pepper wandered once again into Natasha’s room, like she did Nat’s first night here, but this time it was not on accident. 

“I’m cold,” was all she said. 

Because she couldn’t say “I’m lonely and I hate sleeping alone.” Not without sounding like some dumb teenager trying to write poetry. That was obvious anyway. They were both lonely. Lonely, lost, hopeless, maybe hopeful too. Giving birth to the rest of their lives. Cold. 

“C’mere.” Natasha said. Despite being smaller, she wrapped herself around Pepper. That’s how they slept through the night, and the night after that, and the next one, until it was a habit. It was just another part of Pepper’s routine: rake leaves, chop firewood, sleep in the same bed as Natalia, her bodyguard and maybe the best friend she had now in this wonderful, godforsaken world. 

  
  



	3. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Trigger warning: depression/survivor's guilt/passive suicidal thoughts**
> 
> **This chapter is basically a liminal space. And very full of sex.**

**WINTER**

If Natasha’s goal was to remain unattached to Pepper, she was failing, quite literally, and she had lost the will to even worry about it. She woke at the break of dawn with her arms around Pepper’s waist and Pepper’s ankle hooked on hers in a way that felt inextricable. 

Every morning they found themselves clinging to the other like a buoy, as if tossed around at sea. 

The urge came over Natasha, as it had so many times before, to trail a few kisses up Pepper’s neck and jaw as a good morning gesture. It seemed only natural at this point. But once again she resisted the temptation, out of respect for the game they were playing. 

Pretending these slumber parties were purely platonic was definitely a fun little sport. It was fun mostly because Pepper was so bad at it. She was simply too pure-hearted to play it cool, but she didn’t  _ know it.  _ She didn’t know how bad she was at hiding her interest. Pepper seemed to think her attraction to Nat was a secret well-kept. It was all just so  _ innocent _ . It made something in Nat’s chest ache in a good way. 

She knew Pepper wanted her. She knew it the same way she knew any other bit of intel: intuition, context clues, body language. It would be so easy to just say it, to call Pepper out: Yes, good idea—let’s be fuck buddies. They were both a mess and could use the release. Nat wasn’t really one for romance, but she enjoyed their friendship and she certainly enjoyed sex, especially being an otherwise straight woman’s first time. Not that Pepper was  _ actually  _ straight. 

That was the thought that held Nat back every time. The realization needed to be all Pepper’s, not just the product of alcohol or Nat’s lead. It would have to wait until the right moment. 

In the meantime, they were cuddling and teasing and stealing glances. In the meantime they were busy playing house. 

Natasha never really had a shot at  _ normal _ , but that was alright. At least she could try it on now: a home, a child, a partner of sorts. Co-parenting, cooking, parent-teacher meetings. 

It was someone else’s life, but it felt nice, like a warm oversized coat you borrow from a friend and eventually return once the weather warms up. Pepper was probably going to move on someday and end up with another man, and that was okay. Nat felt useful at least, being a step in Pepper’s self-discovery, however far this went. 

Plenty of lesbians  _ hated  _ that idea, and rightfully so, but for Natasha it felt right. There was safety in it. 

Plus the tension between them was an intriguing distraction from the fact that she still felt guilty for being alive. 

It was nothing dramatic. Just a fact, a detail. She lived on a farm. She wanted to be dead, if it meant Clint living. She might make banana bread today. Applesauce was a decent substitute for vegetable oil. 

She was resigned to the fact that she would probably always feel this way—like an imposter with air in her lungs. A thief. Then again it was not exactly a new feeling. She was the girl who survived the Red Room when so many other young ones had not. She was the woman who survived the KGB when plenty of her comrades had “disappeared.” And now she was the Avenger who survived Vormir. 

She would be alive at the end of the world at this rate. 

Nothing seemed to matter now, but there was some freedom in that. 

Nat gently nuzzled her face into the back of Pepper’s head and smelled her hair. Lavender. Pure, soothing lavender. She seriously considered letting herself drift back to sleep for a few more hours. It was Saturday and she had no more chickens to feed. 

Pepper’s New Year’s resolution was to practice radical self-care, which in her case meant giving away all the farm animals, even despite Morgan’s cries of protest. Morgan recovered more or less instantly when Pepper replaced them all with a fat, pure white cat that was allowed to sleep in Morgan’s bed. Morgan named her January, because that’s what month it was. 

The whole property felt different now, with the garden perpetually blanketed in white, and the noisy rooster gone, and the orchards nothing but bare grey trees holding snow in their gangly hands. It was as though the color green never existed. 

Natasha liked to stay inside now, if she could help it. It wasn’t that she couldn’t handle the cold so much as she couldn’t stand the  _ sound _ of it. When she hiked her boots squeaked and crunched into the powder. That was the oldest sound she knew: trekking through snow. But made her sick to her stomach now in a way she’d never experienced before. 

The last time she’d seen snow, she’d been on a mysterious planet in another galaxy altogether. She had every reason to hate snow even before Vormir, but Vormir is what pushed her over the edge on the subject. 

And with that thought, she rose slowly and undetectably and headed toward the garage, taking one last glance at Pepper’s fluttering eyelids before she left.

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


_ Pepper almost hit the mesosphere before turning back around.  _

_ She did a little backflip.  _

_ The perspective from up here made all her anxieties and looming questions seem less daunting. She had spent so long trying to keep Tony’s feet on the ground only to finally understand why he loved the air so much.  _

_ “Shall I chart a course for you, Mrs. Stark?” FRIDAY asked.  _

_ “I’m not sure where I wanna go.”  _

_ That was still the question, wasn’t it.  _

_ “Can I go back in time?” Pepper asked hopefully.  _

_ “I am afraid that is outside of my capabilities,” FRIDAY answered.  _

_ “I really should update you, you’re way behind.”  _

_ And that was Tony, flying up beside her. They’d just raced around the world a few times and she’d won.  _

_ “Slow poke,” Pepper said.  _

_ “Made a stop on the moon, sorry—couldn’t resist planting a flag.”  _

_ “Where should I go next?” Pepper asked him. _

_ Tony shrugged.“You know what you want.”  _

_ “Yeah, to go back to earth with you.”  _

_ “Nope, no can do. We’ve been over this.”  _

_ They’d had this conversation before.  _

_ Suddenly she was falling back to earth, plummeting, screaming and hoping the crash wouldn’t kill her—  _

_ She landed somewhere soft, flat on her back. It was a beach.  _

_ A placid, lovely, abandoned beach. All fear left her body.  _

_ She was naked and warm.  _

_ “Let me get you a drink,” Natalia said. She was naked too — sunkissed and freckled — holding a glass of wine. She took a sip first — the red stained her lips — then she handed it over. Pepper drank from the very same spot and felt a jolt of electricity, like their lips had touched.  _

_ Natalia laid down next to her in the sun. She was glowing.  _

_ The tide came in to touch their feet.  _

_ It crept back out again slowly.  _

_ “Can I taste you?” Natalia asked eventually.  _

_ “What do you mean?” _

_ “You know exactly what I mean.”  _

_ Yes, she did. She wasn’t sure why she’d pretended to be ignorant. Pepper smiled mischievously and spread her legs. They’d done this before, hadn’t they?  _

_ Nat crawled on top of her, kissing her along her neck, her breasts, taking her time, hands roaming and kneading. She moved further down. And then she pressed her red open mouth over Pepper’s soft mound, tonguing her open, plunging inside, licking her wetness and then—  _

  
  


Pepper woke with a start to an empty bed, flushed and embarrassed. She felt a pang of both relief and disappointment: Natasha was already awake, probably down in the garage working out or making breakfast for the whole house. She rolled over onto Nat’s spot. Pepper inhaled the smell of her sandalwood body wash on the pillow like a total creep. 

These feelings were really getting out of hand. The _ denial  _ of them was getting out of hand.

She’d almost brought it up a dozen times. After that first snowfall. After Christmas, when they went into the city and stood by the lights of that giant tree. After New Year’s Eve, when they’d had too much champagne at Rhodey’s party and she’d almost had the guts to lean in. 

They really should just talk about it. They talked about everything else, more or less. She could just say the words: “Hey, let’s have a fling. Let’s just see what happens.” 

What the hell was she worried about? Rejection? 

Or was it just that it might be a mistake? She’d engineered her life around not making them. Maybe it was a fear of the irreversible. There was no taking back sex, or worse: love. There was no undoing it once it was done. 

She knew more than most that everything about life could change in an instant. 

She wasn’t sure if she could bring it up today. She wasn’t sure about much at all, other than she needed to get off  _ right now, god _ — and with that thought, she gathered herself up and headed for the shower. 

  
  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Natasha practically fell off her treadmill and collapsed onto a yoga mat. Corpse pose, but panting and sweating. Dead but alive. She took a few deep breaths—in, out—before heading for the bath. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Pepper heard a knock on the bathroom door and felt a twinge of guilt, like a teenager being caught. “Yeah?”

“Don’t use up all the hot water,” Nat said teasingly through the door. “I’m next in line.” 

Next in line.  _ Next in line.  _ She could practically hear Tony snickering, the pervert. Pepper took a few quick breaths—in, out—

Her twinge of guilt turned into something else entirely: recklessness. 

Because Tony was gone, and in another 40 years Pepper herself would probably be gone too, or sooner— she could die tomorrow—or Nat could—the whole planet could explode—

Everything about life could change in an instant.

It really did just come down to what she wanted right now. Maybe that was the scariest part of all of this. That she could want again, so quickly. 

She thought about the mere possibility of being naked with the woman on the other side of the door and realized that if this was a mistake, it was one worth making. 

“You could always join me,” Pepper called out. 

Months of wondering and worrying and wikipedia-ing articles about bisexuality and it came down to this. A throwaway line. A casual suggestion. Morgan was downstairs watching cartoons and eating cereal. They might really have a chance if they went for it and went for it fast. 

She held her breath. Enough time went by that Pepper wondered if Natasha had already walked away without hearing the words. But then— 

The door creaked quickly, opening and shutting and locking. “ _ Thank God _ —,” Natasha said, “Took you long enough.” 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Pepper poked her head out of the shower curtain, her eyes adorably wide. “So you know?”

“That you’re into me? Of course I know. I’m a  _ spy. _ ” 

“Ugh, I knew that you knew.” 

Nat grinned. “No, you didn’t. You so didn’t.” 

“I was like 50% sure that you knew that I knew that you knew.” 

Natasha was already stripping down, peeling off her workout pants, her underwear, and then her top. This time Pepper didn’t avert her eyes, like she had so many nights when they changed into pajamas. This time she surveyed Nat’s body with reverence from from top to bottom and back again, before opening the shower curtain further, inviting her in. 

Nat climbed into the shower and breathed in the warm steam, letting the water roll over her, washing away her workout, and maybe her whole life, at least for a moment. 

“You are Aphrodite incarnate and I  _ hate you _ ,” Pepper said with jealousy in her voice. 

Pepper herself was pale and golden underneath, all lithe muscle and legs. An elegant column. There were water droplets running down her small breasts. 

Nat shook her head, fond, grinning again. “Yeah, I hate you too—you’ve been driving me crazy.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, really—”

“Since when?”

Nat had to think about this. It had come on so subtly—but then again, not slowly at all—she’d only been here six months. “Right before Thanksgiving, I think.” 

It had hit her when those paparazzi showed up in all black. Natasha had briefly thought they were assassins here to kill Pepper. She’d gone apeshit and almost killed them. It would’ve served them right for working for TMZ anyway. 

“What about you?” Nat asked. 

Pepper bit her lower lip, embarrassed. “End of summer. I’m a terrible widow.” 

“That’s not a thing.” 

“So you don’t judge me?” 

“For wanting to what,  _ live? _ No.”

She could use a little living herself. 

Pepper’s hands were trembling a little when they moved up to cup Nat’s face. She bent lower and pressed their foreheads together. It didn’t feel weird, this kind of casual intimacy. It seemed weirder now that they hadn’t been doing this all along. 

“I’ve never been with another woman,” Pepper said. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“We can take it slow, if that’s what you need.” 

Pepper pulled back. “Oh—no, I’m done with slow. I just wanted to warn you.” 

And with that, Pepper pulled Nat’s face in for a searing kiss. A kiss so hot and urgent that it made Natasha forget that it was winter. For an instance, there was no snow on the ground. She moaned, low in her throat, and slipped her arms around Pepper’s wet waist. Pepper arched and pressed her whole form against Nat’s in response. Their breasts pressed into each other’s bodies. 

Pepper’s hands, no longer trembling, slid down and went roaming over Nat’s back and ass. 

Done being slow, indeed. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


_ This was good this was good this was very very good— _

This is was so damn good, Pepper thought—it was like the answer to a question she didn’t realize she’d been asking all her life—a tiny missing puzzle piece slipping into place. 

_ Oh, god — yes.  _ All fear left her body. She really was attracted to women. The woman kissing her neck in particular. 

Natasha worked her way down from Pepper’s neck to her collarbone and then to her left breast. She circled the nipple with her tongue and—  _ oh, god _ — Pepper’s breath hitched when Nat drew it into her mouth. 

She could cry from  _ joy,  _ but this wasn't the time, in fact they were probably running out of time before being interrupted— 

Pepper raked her fingers through Nat’s sopping hair before gently (but not so gently) cupping her face again and pulling her back up to kiss her, hard. She wanted to make Nat come, but she really wasn’t sure how—and the perfectionist in her was not about to go down south without a map. 

She grabbed the showerhead off the handle instead and pushed Natasha up against the wall. 

This, she understood. 

“Fuck,” Nat panted. 

“That’s what I’m going for, yeah.” 

Nat laughed at that, and spread her legs eagerly, hoisting and resting one thigh on Pepper’s hip. Pepper aimed the water at her inner thighs first, then just above her mound, then back up to her nipples. 

Nat let out a little hiss of happy frustration at that, so Pepper went in for the kill. Nat closed her eyes and bit her lip when the hard stream of water hit her sex. She grabbed Pepper’s arm, digging her nails in—and  _ wow _ , that was good too. 

Pepper alternated intensity for a while, backing off and then moving the hard jet closer, circling, and then Nat was tensing, and touching herself, gasping quietly, mouthing, “ _ Yes, fuck, yes.” _

Pepper kissed her through the end of it. Kissed her and kissed her with her eyes closed, so happy she might float away, and then she felt Natasha grab the showerhead out of her hand. 

“Your turn,” she whispered. 

There was only one problem, which was that Pepper generally couldn’t come while standing up—her legs shook too much. She didn’t waste time feeling embarrassed about this. Instead she tugged Natasha down to the floor of the tub with her. Natasha let go of the showerhead, left it dangling there, and started kissing Pepper’s abs and hips until Pepper was flat on her back in half an inch of water with Nat hovering over her. 

This was better than a dream. 

Pepper opened her legs and Natasha took the invitation, softly stroking and teasing her labia. Pepper had to throw the crook of her arm over her mouth to keep from crying out when Nat slipped a finger in. 

“Another,” Pepper demanded quietly, to which Nat happily obliged, curling inward, thrusting gently in and out. 

She pulled out suddenly just to tease her. 

Pepper looked down at her, desperate. She was so close it hurt. 

“C’mon,” Pepper growled, smiling: this was fun.  _ God, _ this was so good. She hadn’t felt this present in her body since the battlefield. 

Nat pressed the heel of her hand over her pussy and circled frantically, rubbing where it mattered most until Pepper was arching up — 

She pulled her hand away again and Pepper whined loudly.  _ Fuck fuck fuck — this was torture.  _

“Shhhh,” Nat scolded. Natasha shimmed down further, her face between Pepper’s legs. 

She raised an eyebrow: a question. 

Pepper’s brain short circuited. “God—  _ please _ . Yes.” 

That was all the signal Nat needed: she pressed in, mouthing at the whole of her, licking gently. A kiss. Pepper bucked her hips—she was extra sensitive, it had been so long since— 

Nat was tonguing her open—she reached a hand up to grab Pepper’s right breast, to pinch her nipple— 

She plunged her tongue into Pepper’s pussy, her whole face buried harder and harder and harder— 

Pepper arched up again in pure ecstasy, release bursting through her whole body like light. Her eyes, scrunched tight, now flew open: she felt more awake than she had in years. Nat groaned into her, clearly enjoying herself. 

Finally Nat sat back up, satisfied and almost dazed, lips shining. Pepper did a sort of sit up move herself, but she came to far forward and they bumped heads, and then they were just sitting in the tub, laughing hushed-but-hysterically, kissing each other’s smiles. Pepper could taste herself on Nat’s lips. 

Neither of them seemed able to speak a word of English now but it didn’t matter: Sex was such a primal language, as was laughter. Their bodies had so much to talk about. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


They didn’t bother with pajamas that night. 

Pepper came twice with Nat’s mouth on her pussy and then nervously offered to reciprocate. 

“Might as well jump off this cliff.” 

“Don’t worry about getting me off,” Nat said. She could see Pepper’s visible relief at that, her shoulders relaxing. 

“I prefer this as foreplay,” she reassured her. “Don’t stress it. It’s just foreplay.” 

It was wonderful, is what it was: Nat lay outstretched in the soft sheets, propped up on her elbows, her eyes unable to leave Pepper’s hungry face. She loved watching Pepper  _ learn. _

Pepper gripped Nat’s hips and went in, nosing around at first. Pepper sucked on her labia, slowly and curiously, familiarizing herself to the unknown terrain: an expedition. Maybe that was what Nat liked the most about this: feeling like something  _ new _ . Like she was still worth exploring. 

The thought sent some type of adrenaline into her system. It wasn’t the same drug as a firefight, not quite. In plenty of ways it was better. 

Pepper landed open mouthed over her clit and she had to resist bucking or thrusting up for more friction. Pepper lapped at Nat’s increasing wetness and finally slid her tongue inside a few times. 

Nat groaned and spread herself even wider. She was being opened up, like a present. Right now she felt like a good thing, a useful thing, a beautiful Christmas morning thing—  _ god  _ — 

Pepper came back up for air, cheeks flushed. “How am I doing?”

She looked so damn messy. The sight was exquisite. Pepper’s lips were slick with Nat’s pleasure, her hair mussed and imperfect, her face red and eager. Nat took a mental picture. This was the sight of a woman coming into her own after coming completely undone. 

Nat sighed happily: “Mmm, c’mere and kiss me.” 

She was getting closer but knew this wouldn’t quite do the trick.

Pepper traveled back up Nat’s body and obeyed. They kissed and caressed and kissed some more, until Nat decided to flip them over and get on top. Nat slotted Pepper’s taut thigh between her own legs. This was actually her favorite way to get off, because it felt like ownership, grinding did. Rubbing off gave her more control. It felt primal, like marking someone. 

She had marked a lot of women in her lifetime. But she hadn’t felt this fond of one since she’d been a teenager. 

Her and Maria used to mess around. They were so similar—they both were the job—so it worked, but it never went anywhere. Before that, it was mostly more of the same. She’d never had the kind of connection where you kiss each other awake and make pancakes, but she knew that’s where this was headed, and she was going to let it. The universe was not good or bad or fair or unfair: it just  _ was _ . 

And  _ this _ was happening: They were face to face, panting into each other’s mouths, Pepper’s hands tightly gripping her ass. She rode Pepper’s thigh, leaking slickness onto her smooth skin, until she came with a guttural  _ Nngh  _ and collapsed onto Pepper’s chest. 

Pepper wrapped her arms around her. 

It was comfortably quiet for a while. Just heartbeats and breathing and a sort of shocked respect for how good all this felt. After so many years of turmoil this moment felt like a butterfly landing on Nat’s skin. She didn’t want to move, lest she scare it off. 

Eventually Pepper cleared her throat. “I’m gonna want more tonight, but we can take a break.” 

Nat laughed into Pepper’s collarbone, surprised. “It’s true what they say about getting older.” 

“Oh, absolutely. I’ve never been hornier.” 

“Me either.” 

“How do you feel about strap-ons?” Pepper asked.

Nat lifted her head off Pepper’s chest to look at her, smirking. “I’m a fan.” 

“Good. I’ll order myself another one.” 

“_Another_, huh?”

“I was married to Tony, remember?”

Nat flopped over onto her back, onto the sheets, tired and satisfied for the time being. “I shouldn’t be surprised he was into pegging.”

“Oh, he was into  _ everything _ ,” Pepper said. She looked so happy to be naked. 

“How kinky are we talking?”

Pepper considered this. “It’s all relative, I guess. He went through phases and I was usually amenable.” 

“So he was into submission?”

“For months at a time, but then he’d want the opposite. I think we spent an entire year pretending I was his naughty little secretary.” 

“And you were into that?”

“I was into making Tony happy. It never felt degrading. Being fucked, or being the one doing the fucking — it’s all pretty great if you ask me.” 

“I’ll drink to that,” Nat shrugged. She hopped up and got the bottle of champagne they had opened and abandoned in the haze of arousal. Nat didn’t bother with the glasses. She took a swig directly from the bottle and handed it over. 

“Needless to say,” Pepper said after a sip, “We don’t have to stay completely vanilla.”

Nat felt a little rush in her lower belly. “I enjoy a mild amount of violence. Hair pulling, digging my nails in, that kind of thing.” 

“Is there anything you especially _ don’t _ like? Just so I know.”

She didn’t even have to think about it: “Handcuffs.”

“Bad experience?”

Nat hesitated. She didn’t want to kill the mood. 

Pepper noticed and tilted her head. “I can handle it. Whatever it is. I’m  _ clearly _ not as innocent as you expected me to be.” 

Nat sighed. “When I was a kid. In the Red Room. They used to handcuff us to our beds at night. So we didn’t run off, you know. Or it might’ve been so we couldn’t cuddle with each other. Either way, I’m not the biggest fan of them.”

Pepper whole face fell. “That is — that is  _ awful _ . Jesus.” 

“Sorry.” 

Pepper shook her head. “You have nothing to be sorry about. I could  _ kill them _ — ”

“Oh, I already did that.” 

“Good.” Her eyes blazed now, no longer sad, and Nat couldn’t help but be grateful for that. 

“Thank you,” Nat said. 

“For what?”

“For not looking at me like I’m some wounded bird. I can’t stand that.” 

Pepper laid on her side. They were nose to nose now, practically. 

“I mean, I get it. You’re never going to sob in my arms about your big scary past,” Pepper said, resigned. “I know that. I know you might  _ want _ me, but you’ll never fully need me. They took that ability from you. I’m not going to judge you for that.”

Nat’s eyebrows flew up, shocked at the accuracy. Christ, Pepper could’ve been a spy herself. Her intuition was spot on. Then again it was a horrible, dangerous job and Pepper should stay far away from it. 

Pepper smiled and traced her fingers along Nat’s arm. “You’re the strongest person I know. With everything you’ve been through. I don’t know how you’re still standing.” 

“Well,” Nat said, “I’m not  _ standing. _ I’m lying in bed with you. It helps.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

Nat leaned into Pepper’s touch like a hesitant cat. “You’re right. About me. A lot of shit happened. A long time ago, enough shit happened to me that that I don’t feel things the way normal people do. You okay with that?”

She needed to know. She needed to know before this went any further. 

“Of course,” Pepper said, like it was obvious. “I mean, I still think it would be good for you to talk to someone—but only when you’re ready.” 

Nat had maybe never felt more accepted in her entire trainwreck of a life. She just kept blinking. 

Pepper closed the gap between them with a deep kiss of comfort that slowly turned more passionate. 

She broke off after a long while, a little sheepish: “What you did. On my thigh—could you, uh. I mean, could we—I wasn’t sure if it’s actually a thing, you know—the physics— ”

Nat could see Pepper’s wheels turning. 

“Are you asking me to grind on your pussy—” 

“Yes,” Pepper said immediately.  _ “That.” _

Nat tucked a strand of hair behind Pepper’s ear. “Were you afraid to ask for that?” 

“I guess I thought oral sex was like…you know....” she faltered. 

“The end all, be all of lesbian sex? Nah. I love it, but we can do whatever we want.” 

And with that, Pepper kissed her again, and they were off.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Pepper had felt momentarily guilty for it, somehow, to want missionary position, or the equivalent. To be under someone. She was trying to deprogram the heteronormative part of her brain and kept getting confused. Was she still “the woman” in this dynamic? But forget it — that was nonsense. They were both women. That’s why this was so great. 

Maybe next time she’d take the lead. At the moment though, she wanted to be taught and handled. 

Nat got rougher this time, climbing on top and pulling Pepper’s hair back, biting at her neck. 

She yanked again, hissing in her ear, “I don’t want you to fuck anybody else while we’re together. However long this lasts. You’re mine for now, got it?” 

“I’m yours,” Pepper said breathlessly, heat coiling in her belly. The edge in Nat’s voice was painfully hot and also unexpected: Pepper would’ve never thought of her the possessive type. 

“Good girl,” Nat cooed, and  _ god _ —that was a rush. She could not escape her need to please. 

Nat moved down and lightly nipped Pepper’s nipple, but that was about all the foreplay left in them. Natasha grabbed the small bottle of astroglide off the nightstand and quickly smeared some on her pussy before lowering herself between Pepper’s open legs, hovering over her, arms braced on either side. 

_ Fuck, fuck _ —Pepper  _ loved _ this, and Nat seemed to love it just as much: the light back and forth, their clits rubbing together, slick with lube and excitement. Pepper was  _ dripping _ from it. They let the tension build and build and then it wasn’t light pressure anymore: Nat was grinding down, hard, and then harder, hips rolling— it took a few tries, but they found a rhythm—and then Nat was gasping—and then Pepper was coming too, spilling over—she sat up and forward a little so she could kiss Nat and was overwhelmed by lips touching and lips touching. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  
  


Once again Natasha woke at the break of dawn with her face buried in the nape of Pepper’s neck. She kissed Pepper there freely. Proof of the difference a single day can make. But that wasn’t really true—none of that had happened because of one day. Every wonderful and miserable moment of their lives had led to that point and it got Nat thinking. 

She rose slowly and slipped on Pepper’s sweatpants and a t-shirt. She padded lightly down the hall until she stood at the doorway of the meditation room. 

Roughly six months had passed with her avoiding this room entirely. Even walking in here now felt like an invasion. 

There were plush bean bag chairs on the carpet. The master bed wasn’t here anymore, but there was a couch standing where it probably once was, with a small fountain on one end table and a bonsai tree on another. The main wall across from it was covered in photos. Wedding photos, candid photos, Morgan’s ultrasounds. Up against this wall there was a coffee table turned altar. Pepper had placed candles and icons on it. Most of it seemed Catholic, but there was a little Buddha too. There were art supplies in a crate underneath it. 

She would’ve missed it if she hadn’t snooped in the supplies: there was a single painting of Clint, too good to be Morgan’s work. He was in action, pulling his bow. The way the world would remember him. 

She held the painting and sat down on the floor, numb. Her eyes floated up to all the images of Tony. 

“Your wife’s pretty great, you know that?” 

Of course he knew that. 

He also couldn’t hear her. 

Yet she kept talking: “I just want you to know...I didn’t want her to be alone. After everything. I’ve been alone and I don’t wish it on anybody. Anyway, say hey to Clint for me.” 

She didn’t actually hear the words. It was just her memory of Tony’s voice playing tricks on her: “ _ Say hey to him yourself.”  _

“I’m not talking to him right now,” she said. It was like something clicked in her head. “I’m still mad at him for leaving.” 

She cried silently, frozen—she’d stopped being able to make noise while crying so long ago—there was no point back then. Children make noise to call for comfort. If no comfort comes for long enough, they give up the game, they know better. 

She looked at the painting. Amateur, but accurate in essence. Her tears rolled down and dripped onto it. 

She grabbed a tack from the crate and pinned it to the wall and wondered where the hell she’d be a year from now. 

She’d already been talking with Nick about her next assignment. He wouldn’t move her yet. He was waiting for something, but Nat couldn’t tell what, and she didn’t much care. If shit really hit the fan again, she knew he’d be calling her, and calling this whole sabbatical business off. 

This was merely the calm after the storm, or rather the calm before the next one. There was always a next one. 

She wiped her face and headed back to her warm, shared bed; she craved the the scent of lavender. This is what one did in peace time, if you could: store up good memories like firewood. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait!!
> 
> I'm an Old ™ and life is suddenly very busy and I just want to write SMUT in PEACE. Expect the Spring chapter by Spring (or earlier). :)


	4. Spring

**SPRING**

Natasha wasn’t sure why she did it. 

One minute she was half-heartedly throwing snowballs in the yard at Morgan’s request, and the next she was hovering over an old flower bed, staring down at a rather large gathering of perky yellow Daffodils. It felt as though they were staring right back at her, completely unaware of their fatal mistake: they had bloomed too early. Another five feet of snow was due tonight. 

Such was the way of things in nature. 

It was late March, and they’d had a few warmer days this week, but more cold was coming. Ice and wind and endless white. That was maybe the worst part about living so far north: winter lingered like a cough you can’t get rid of. She was sick of it, or maybe sick _ from _ it. 

“What are you doing, Miss Natasha?” she heard Morgan ask. 

Natasha wasn’t sure why she was doing it. One minute she was throwing snowballs and then she was ripping up Daffodils and shredding them like they had secret plans of assassinating the household. It was childish, this sort of anger. Then again what had she ever known about being a child? She could feel something rising up in her, as if she needed to vomit— 

Morgan gasped. “You’re killing them!” 

“Oh, it’s okay, sweetie—they were gonna die anyway,” Natasha explained logically, as if this decision had been at all rational. “It’s going to snow soon. So they were going to die anyway.” 

“We coulda brought them inside,” Morgan argued, stomping her foot. The look of indignation on her face is what brought Nat back to reality. She was losing the moral high ground to a kindergartner. Her face, already pink and raw, flushed with embarrassment.

She stammered, “I was just…” 

Just, what? _ Putting them out of their misery? _

“I’m telling mommy,” Mogan announced, just before running inside and dragging Pepper back out with her by the forearm. 

“She killed the flowers!” Morgan accused. 

Natasha, hands full of crushed petals, locked eyes with Pepper. They were both utterly confused. Nat looked down at the stems at her feet and swallowed the urge to laugh. This was so absurd it was _ hilarious. _

Pepper didn’t seem to notice or care about the flowers. “You okay?”

“No,” Natasha said, as if it had just dawned on her. “I think I need to lie down.” 

Pepper reached for Nat’s hand and pulled her inside where it was warm. Nat crawled into bed and found it damn near impossible to crawl back out again the next day. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Pepper treated it like a cold for the first week. She brought Nat chicken noodle soup and crackers and sat in bed with her while she ate. 

She made her Earl Grey tea and gave her tissues. Tissues for the tears that— thank God—were at least quietly and occasionally flowing. Tears were a good sign, in Pepper’s opinion: much better than being comatose. 

“Some bodyguard I am,” Nat said blankly in the third week. 

“Well,” Pepper assured, “I’ve got the suit if we need it.” 

Natasha didn’t seem to register this. “I guess I never really was your bodyguard. This was just Fury’s way of desking me.” 

“No, I asked for help. I wanted help. I was scared. And with you around, I’m not. Well, I take that back—I’m worried now, but for other reasons. I still think you’d benefit from talking to a therapist.” 

Nat sat up a little. “They used to psychoanalyze us. Back in the Red Room. Testing for fidelity. Wearing us down. I don’t want some stranger poking and prodding in my psyche again.”

“Point taken,” Pepper said. And then she got a much better idea. 

  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


New York City was a slushy windy mess. As Pepper flew over Manhattan she realized she didn’t miss it, not even a little bit. It was only Tony she longed for, and the way _ he _ had loved the city. His love for the place had been so big there had been extra for her to borrow. But that was a long time ago. 

She touched down in Astoria Park and quickly retracted the suit. It was tempting to go see May and the kid, but that wasn’t why she was here; Queens was home to Steve too. Apparently he had tried to set up camp in Brooklyn, but too many people had taken interest. Tourists hunted him there. Now he and Sergeant Barnes wore disguises and lived in a nondescript brick apartment over a Greek laundromat on 23rd Ave. 

She thought she had the wrong place at first, upon hearing his accent—it was so much thicker than she’d remembered. He looked different too: he’d dyed his hair dark brown and grown a beard and he was sporting thick glasses that made him look like something of a hipster. But his eyes were still as kind and sad as ever. 

Pepper had always liked Steve, until she really really hated him. It took several years after the Accords for her fondness to creep back in, but creep back in it did, and now that she was standing dumbly in his doorway it felt like all hurt had been forgiven. He loved Tony too, and Natasha most importantly, and that was enough to have in common. 

Steve smiled at the sight of her, but it quickly faded. His brows knit together in concern. “Is everything oka—”

“—God, I should’ve called first,” Pepper said apologetically. “Don’t worry—it’s not an emergency. Well, not exactly. I’ve just been a little impulsive lately.” 

A _ little _ was an understatement. She flew here today, even though it was an objectively terrible day to do so: the wind was coming in bursts and gusts that rattled the windows of Steve’s apartment. She’d gone from quietly questioning her sexuality to jumping into a complicated relationship with another woman with about the same attitude. And here she was, about to make an even more impulsive proposition. 

“Can we talk?” she asked. 

“Of course,” Steve answered, as he turned his head back into the apartment. “We got company, Buck.” 

Upon entering, the first thing she noticed was that the apartment was a studio and there was only one bed. And that James Barnes was still in it, bundled up. Then she noticed there was a photo of the two of them kissing on the fridge. Natasha had mentioned that Steve and Barnes were an item now, but the warm domestic evidence of it still caught her by surprise. This space was clearly _ theirs _. 

“Scuse my appearance,” James said sheepishly, sitting up quickly and running his fingers through his long hair. He was still very much still in pajamas even though it was noon. 

Pepper wrung her hands. “I’m so sorry—I really should’ve called first.” 

Steve started clinking around in the kitchen, making coffee. “Nonsense. You’re welcome here anytime.” 

“I’ll go get lunch for us,” Bucky invented, pulling on sweats and clearly looking for a way out of this interaction. She couldn’t blame him. They’d never really been in the same room together. Which made what she was going to ask them even more preposterous. 

When Bucky had gone, Pepper sat down at their worn out kitchen table. “So you two are….?”

Steve smiled at her all lopsided. “Yeah. We...are.” 

“That’s wonderful. I’m so happy for you.” 

He pulled up a chair and handed her a mug. “Hey, I’m happy for _ you. _ Nat told me you and her were, uh...making the best of a lousy situation.” 

Pepper blushed into the steam of her drink. “That’s the most astute way of putting it, yeah.” 

“Gotta admit. Didn’t see that one coming.” 

“Neither did I—believe me. I’m just as surprised as you. I’m _ more _ surprised than you. I don’t think even Nat saw this one coming.”

“How is she,” he said, leaning forward a little. His voice was tinged with concern. 

Pepper sat down her mug. “Well, that’s why I’m here. She’s pretty bad off right now. I mean, she’s Nat—she’s fine—but she’s not fine.”

“What can I do?”

He looked ready to run out the door to her and Pepper felt something loosen in her chest. Steve Rogers would be Pepper’s greatest ally in this, even if he said no to her admittedly hairbrained request. “You were a grief counselor, right? After the Decimination.” 

Steve nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Well, I was wondering if...” 

“I can talk to her, of course.” 

“Well, not just that,” Pepper clarified, throwing caution to the wind. “How would you and James feel about moving in?”

Steve sat back, blinking. 

She could have certainly set this up better. 

“She needs more than just me,” Pepper said. “We’re so isolated right now. And I know it would be awkward, with everything that happened between Tony and Bucky—can I call him Bucky?—”

“You may.” 

“I know it would be awkward because of what happened, but I think we could work through it, for Nat’s sake—and I know you’re more of a big city type, but it wouldn’t be forever, a few weeks, a few months maybe—more of a vacation for you guys—and I would pay the rent on this place for you in the meantime—hell, I’ll buy it for you if you want—” 

“Pepper,” Steve interrupted. 

“You think I’m insane, don’t you?”

“Nat’s one of my best friends. What would be insane is if I said _ no _.” 

“But I’m totally interrupting your life here.” 

Steve exhaled and swished his coffee around. “Unfortunately the city isn’t what it used to be for us. Just don’t tell Bucky I said that: I’ll lose a bet.” 

There was more to this story, Pepper was certain. Maybe someday soon she’d hear the rest. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

“I still love New York, don’t get me wrong—I’ll _ always _ love it—but— ,” he faltered. 

“Everything’s changed,” Pepper interjected. She knew the feeling all too well. 

He nodded pensively. “Everything’s changed.” 

There was a beat before he said, “As long as Buck’s okay with it, I’m more than willing to spend a few weeks in the woods. Might help me figure some things out.” 

“I’ll put you to work,” said Pepper. “I’ve got too much land to tend.” 

“Oh, Buck will love that. He’s been itching for real work. Every time he tries to get a job out here he just gets hounded by fans and paps. It’s impossible. I’ve been painting up a storm but I don’t think he knows what to do with himself now.” 

“Well, he and Nat have that in common. He and _ I _ have that in common.” 

Speak of the devil: Pepper heard the jingling of keys and then Bucky reemerged with bags from the deli across the street. He set them on the counter and asked, “So what’d I miss?” His eyes darted between her and Steve. Gentle but wary. 

Pepper cleared her throat. “Natasha’s not doing so well. I was wondering if you and Steve would come up and stay with us for a while. She could use the company.” 

Bucky crossed his arms, considering. “I don’t mean to point out the obvious, but...you sure? ‘Cause I’m thinkin’ you got plenty of reasons to not want me in your house.”

Pepper chose her words carefully. “I don’t judge people for what they do under torture. If I did, I certainly wouldn’t let Natasha under my roof either.” 

“Fair enough,” Bucky said, shrugging. “So she knows we’re coming?”

Pepper pulled out her phone and typed, _ They said yes. So I guess they’re as crazy as I am (about you). _

She set down the phone. “She does now.” 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Natasha expected Steve and Bucky to take their time moving in—this wasn’t exactly an emergency, after all, and she supposed they’d have loose ends to tie up in the city first—so she was surprised when Pepper informed her they’d be here by the next day. 

“You know I’m not dying, right?” Nat asked her. “I’m just tired.” 

Pepper kissed her forehead. “It was Steve’s call, not mine.” 

By the next afternoon, Steve was poking his head into the room. Bucky was likely unpacking, with Pepper undoubtedly flitting around him making needless apologies about the accommodations, which all things considered were just fine. Pepper was putting them in the “garage” for privacy’s sake, and maybe just so that they’d have some of Tony’s toys to play with when bored.

Nat felt like pure lead, lying there, and Steve could tell. He walked in and sat tentatively on the edge of the bed. “Hey,” he said. 

“Hey yourself.” 

She didn’t want to need this, but upon seeing him she realized just how much she did. It was so good to see him. She had been rude earlier, not going down to greet them. Part of her resented their affection. Or maybe she just resented herself, for needing old friends around. 

Steve surveyed her for a beat and then plopped back, exhaling. “This is a comfortable bed.” 

“Sure is.” 

“Hear you’ve been having trouble getting out of it.” 

“Yeah, you here to fix me?”

Steve just stared at the ceiling. “Nah. We just needed a vacation. The city is gettin’ on Buck’s nerves, literally. Every time a car backfires he jumps ten feet in the air.” 

“Maybe he spent too much time in a hut in Wakanda.” 

“Maybe he spent too much time as a weapon, more like.” 

“It does have a way of catching up to people,” Natasha sighed. 

Steve rolled onto his side so he could look at her. “So how bad is this? How are you doing?”

“Not great.” 

“Five stages of grief, remember? This is just one of ‘em.” 

“Refresh my memory.” 

“Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance.” 

Nat shrugged. “I don’t think I did the first three.” 

“Doesn’t always go in order.” 

“Well, _ that’s _ something to look forward to.” 

“I’ve always tended to default to anger.” 

Nat smirked. “You don’t say.”

“Hey, a little anger might be good for you.” 

“Oh, actually—I did do anger,” Nat remembered. “I ripped up some flowers a couple weeks ago. They looked at me funny.” 

“Now we’re talking.” 

The truth was sometimes she wondered if she were to really let herself get angry, she’d never stop being angry. She might stay angry forever about Clint, and Thanos, and the Red Room. The list went on and on. It felt safer to stay cool and numb than to let it overtake her. 

“So are you really here to fix me?” she asked, “Pretty sure there’s some kind of dual relationship rule. You can’t be my counselor, right? Ethically speaking.” 

“Hey, I lied to get into the army like fifteen times, you really think I give a damn?”

People really did get Steve wrong sometimes. He was as much a scrapper as he was a Boy Scout, if not moreso. He was a survivor and a bullshitter just like she was. 

“And no,” he added, “I’m not here to fix you. You’re not a car. I mostly just wanna talk about Clint. I miss the bastard. Besides, he owes me two thousand dollars.”

“The hell did you give him money for? You know how he is. Or—was,” she corrected herself. “You know how he was.”

“_ Is _is fine,” he said. “We can use present fucking tense. I’ve had too many people come back to life on me to keep any of it straight. I never really stopped referring to Bucky like he was alive. Fact is, they’re still with us, if only just in our heads.” 

“Yeah, Pepper talks to Tony constantly.” 

“Finally getting a word in, I see. I’m sure before it was difficult.” 

Nat snorted. “I hope he heard that.” 

“Yeah. Me too.” 

Steve’s face fell at that. And maybe it was selfish, but Natasha had sort of forgotten he was grieving too. He’d lost Tony and Clint, and Thor was off in space. Half the team, practically. She’d been too focused on the fact he had Bucky back, lost in the idea that at least someone got a _ happily ever after _, to realize he was in pain. 

“I talk to Tony too,” she offered. “Sometimes.” 

“What about Barton?”

“No.”

“That’ll show him.” 

“I just can’t. I just end up thinking about how it could be different. If he hadn’t been such a stubborn ass. Or if I had run faster.” 

“Sounds like bargaining,” Steve observed.

“Oh, well check that one off the list too then.” 

“Sometimes I think they’re all happening at once.” 

“Yeah, maybe. All except the last one.” 

“You’ll get there. _ We’ll _ get there. Not today, not tomorrow, but eventually. I’m gonna be in your hair all the time. Bucky too. And Pepper of course. So get used to it. You’re officially my totally not-legal patient.”

“Fine, but I’m not laying on a couch, and I’m not talking about my childhood, and if you bring up Freud once I’m firing you.” 

“Freud’s a bunch of hogwash anyway. I was thinking we could build a treehouse instead.” 

“For Morgan?”

“No, for _ me _. I grew up in Red Hook. Closest I ever got to a treehouse was building a fort on the fire escape with Bucky. I’m building myself a damn treehouse. A big one.” 

“You realize there’s still snow on the ground, right?”

“Okay, fine—in a few weeks I’m building a treehouse. That gives us plenty of time to plan. Blueprints, supply list, all that.”

He stood up, and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

“Go what?”

“Scope out trees.” 

“You really need me for that?”

“Your opinion is _ essential _.” 

Nat rolled her eyes. “You just want me to get up.” 

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” 

She took a deep breath and grabbed his hand and let him pull her up. She had once walked from Moscow to Zelenograd, but the journey from the bed to the yard might’ve been the longest trek of her life. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Life on the farm in the Springtime went like this:

Just about every morning Morgan would burst into Pepper and Nat’s room excitedly, talking about Captain America, whom she believed to be 400 hundred years old, despite Pepper constantly correcting her. 

Pepper couldn’t fully suppress her own childlike wonder at the arrangement— she’d done a research paper on Captain America in the ninth grade, for crying out loud. It was strange to think of how far back this man went in her memory, and even stranger to think of how interconnected Tony’s life was to his. When Tony was Morgan’s age, he used to go “fishing” with his father in the arctic to look for him. 

Of course, Steve Rogers was different from Captain America, and the more time Pepper spent with James Barnes, the more she realized that maybe _ he _ was the golden boy, at least once upon a time. There were glimmers of gregariousness in him. He seemed to want to _ host _ them all, deep down, evidenced by the fact he got up early every morning to make them eggs and biscuits and bacon. Or sometimes it was fried mush, or some other wildly unhealthy depression-era food. Not that Pepper was complaining. It was all delicious. 

Having more help around the house made getting Morgan off to school easier, to say the least, especially since Nat still had a hard time getting up. If she slept too late Steve would march up the stairs, looking determined. Eventually he’d bring her back down and pull her outside to work on the treehouse they were building. 

It seemed like a private club, him and Nat and Bucky, and that was okay with Pepper—she brought them fresh lemonade and sandwiches at lunchtime and found herself thoroughly unjealous of the fact she had never been a soldier. She had suffered in her life, yes, but their experiences were special cases. 

She didn’t cook much anymore, but she made exceptions, like baking cookies for them. Bucky’s favorite was something called a molasses crinkle. They looked like giant kids when Pepper surprised them all with a plate one day. The sun had finally popped out, and the grounds were covered in daffodils and emerging green things, and Pepper practically kicked herself: they could’ve been doing this all along. Maybe Nat wouldn’t have sunk so low in the first place if they had. But how was she to know?

It wasn’t all easy or fun, of course. Sometimes Bucky would retreat into the woods for hours or occasionally, _ days _, and Steve would worry himself an ulcer inside the house waiting for him. “I’m not allowed to go after him,” he’d grumble, and then he’d go downstairs and shoot at targets with Natasha for the rest of the night. 

Nat had her own way of disappearing. She’d be there physically, but she was gone—_ poof _— right in the middle of dinner, or sex, or a shower. 

“Where do you go?” Pepper once asked. 

“Somewhere else.”

Pepper couldn’t help but ask. She had to know: “Do you want to be somewhere else?”

“No,” Natasha said, before leaning into Pepper like a stray cat. “I wanna be right here.” 

“I wanna be here,” she said again, seemingly surprised at herself. 

Pepper couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss, and Nat kissed her right back, open-mouthed and fully there. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Nat made a scrapbook, of all fucking things. She lit candles and prayed to no deity in particular. She still wouldn’t talk to him, of course. Steve suggested writing a goodbye letter but all she managed to do was doodle and then burn the paper. 

But she did look at pictures, at least, and talk about them. And she did get out of bed. It wasn’t out of some deep sense of purpose. Just curiosity. What was Barnes cooking? Would she get some alone time with Pepper? Could she beat Steve at Uno? What silly thing was Morgan going to say? It was enough to set her feet on the ground and get her walking. 

She tried yoga, and that was all right, and Steve made her journal, which did help. She got frustrated with him sometimes, but only because he was so often _ right _about what might make her feel better, or feel anything at all. 

“Ready, aim—”

“I don’t need you to do that,” she said to him today, not bothering to hide her annoyance. She was already pissed off enough, holding this bow, without him trying to play teacher on top of it. 

It wasn’t specifically Clint’s bow, but it was one just like it: Tony’s design. She could feel that strange something rising up in her again, as if she needed to vomit—but she tamped it down fast. She took a deep breath, and thought about the first time she and Clint met, and let an arrow fly. 

Then another. 

Then another. 

Then another. 

When her quiver was empty she let Steve hold her for a very long time. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


The nightmares got worse before they got better, Pepper noticed. Nat waking in a fit of sweat multiple times in the night became the norm, until it suddenly and inexplicably wasn’t. It was Pepper herself who woke up tonight—not from a nightmare but from a good dream—a dream so pleasant she felt practically euphoric at 3AM. 

It was simply about Malibu. The ocean, the seaside cliffs, and the palms. It was the place she’d met Tony, but maybe even more importantly it was the first place she’d chosen to move all on her own, even before he came into the picture. She had left New England and made a life there once. 

She could keep this house as a summer home, of course. She would never put it up for sale. Morgan would adjust, as all children tend to do. The lingering questions remained, though: what would she do there? And would Natasha come with her?

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


Nat measured out half a cup of applesauce and dumped it into the bowl of wet ingredients, amused by the messy _ plop _ sound it made on impact. She wasn’t the only one. 

“It sounds like_ poopy _,” Morgan said, damn near hysterical at her own insight. She was sitting on the counter, swinging her legs. 

Nat wrinkled her nose. “Remember what we talked about, young lady?”

Morgan sat up straighter. “No potty talk in the kitchen.”

“That’s your mom’s rule, but I like it.”

“Are you and mommy gonna get married someday?”

Nat stopped stirring the batter. “I don’t think so, sweetie. Sometimes grown ups just don’t get married. But I really like your mommy.” 

_ Girlfriend _ was the term Pepper had used when they sat down and explained their relationship to Morgan. Kids aren’t stupid, especially not this kid, so it was better to get ahead of it and use terms she would understand. 

Morgan had no problems grasping the concept of Pepper’s bisexuality. In fact, now she seemed to have problems understanding that everyone _ wasn’t _. She insisted on having both a boyfriend and a girlfriend at school and thought every adult needed the same, including Natasha.

“Hawkeye was your boyfriend and mommy is your girlfriend. You need a new boyfriend now,” she said, and not for the first time. 

“Does your mommy need a new boyfriend too?”

“Mommy’s boyfriend is Mr. Rhodey. Daddy’s boyfriend was also him.” 

It was hard to argue with this logic but she tried: “I only want a girlfriend.”

“Captain America can be your boyfriend.” 

Nat shook her head. “Mr. Bucky is Captain America’s boyfriend.” 

“But then who is his_ girlfriend _.” 

“Peggy Carter,” Natasha said after a moment, because hey, it wasn’t exactly a lie. 

“Who’s she?”

“A friend of your grandpa’s.” 

“Ooohhh. So she’s dead.” 

“Unfortunately.” 

She helped Morgan pour the batter into a muffin pan, and this seemed to distract her long enough to shift the subjects. When they were done Morgan jumped down from the counter all by herself to look at the food in the oven. 

“Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y,” she called out. “Set a timer for two hundred minutes.” 

“Twenty minutes,” Nat corrected quickly. F.R.I.D.A.Y obliged. 

“Miss Natasha?” Morgan asked, eyes still glued to the inside of the oven. 

“Yes, sweetie.” 

“Are you happy or sad today?”

Nat stopped in her tracks and blew out a long breath. It wasn’t Morgan’s job to worry about this. “I’m sad and happy at the same time.”

“But which one is _ winning _,” Morgan demanded. She looked up at Nat for an answer. Nat smoothed her soft hair. She looked so much like Tony. 

“Happy is winning today,” Nat said. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


_ “It should melt by tomorrow,” _ Bucky grumbled in Russian. 

Nat glanced over. “очень хорошо.”

He and Nat were sitting on the sofa, bundled up and reading together while everyone else played outside in what was hopefully the final snowfall of the season. She could faintly hear Morgan yelling in delight and Steve laughing his head off. Pepper was probably snapping photos of them playing. It was admittedly a nice snowfall, light and powdery. But she refused to touch it. 

“Do you hate it too or are you just babysitting me?”

“Was gonna ask you the same thing.” 

“I asked first.” 

“Dollface, I spent maybe sixty years literally frozen. What do you think?” 

Nat nodded, understanding. “Fuck the Motherland.” 

“Da,” Bucky agreed. “Amen.” 

Nat sighed. “I should’ve known it was going to snow again.” 

“Yeah, they got apps for that.” 

“No, I mean—I was just getting used to the warmth. Always a mistake, right?”

Bucky shut his book. “I got a feeling we’re not actually talking about the weather.” 

Maybe she’d put too much whiskey in her hot toddy. “Do you ever feel like you’re just bracing for the next horrible thing to happen? Like it’s inescapable?"

“Sometimes,” Bucky said thoughtfully. “But then I get to thinkin’ it can’t be anything worse than I’ve already been through. I’ve died about six times, and lost Steve, and my own damn mind. I don’t think it’s statistically_ possible _ for things to ever get that bad again for me. And that goes for you too. We’re fucking invincible now.” 

She could only blink at that for a moment. Coming from anyone else it might seem pithy. But not from him: he knew maybe more than anyone about loss and pain. “All that being said,” he continued. “I still hate snow.” 

The snow did finally melt the next day, and when it did the world changed: the tulips and crocuses burst to life, thoroughly unafraid. The trees no longer had bald patches. Spring had crept up on the earth and now it was everywhere: green and teeming with birdsong and pollen fog and days that slowly stretched and held the sunlight longer and longer. 

Nat stood on the porch in robe and it occurred to her that maybe, just maybe, she was out of the woods. But that was before she checked her email. 

  
  


*

  
  
  


To: [encrypted]

From: [encrypted]

Dear Nat, 

I’ve been trying to think of an opening line for this email for a solid month. My mind still hasn’t concocted the perfect apology for shutting you out at the worst possible time. The clumsy truth is that I’ve been avoiding you and everything. I wanted to keep pretending Clint was still out there. Just on a mission. I couldn’t stand the thought of you arriving at my door without him, because that would make it real. The game would be over if I saw you. 

I was out of my mind, and I still am, but I’ve got enough of my bearings back to know how unfair it was of me to deliberately stay stuck in denial. I didn’t tell the kids for weeks. We still haven’t even had a memorial service yet. Now I’m sitting here trying to plan one, with no body, no ashes, nothing. It would be so much easier if I could go back to believing you two were off fighting aliens. But you’re not. He’s gone, and I miss you, and I’m so sorry. 

I’m tentatively planning on having the service in a few months, out in the fresh air. But part of that depends on you. Let me know. It’s only right that you be a part of it. Please write back, if only just to let me know how you’re doing. 

With love from me and the kids, 

Laura 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  


She slunk off to the treehouse, barely able to breathe. Her chest was as tight as her throat as she climbed. Once inside she curled into a ball and waited for it to pass. She felt small, and weak, and it angered her; her fists were clenched so tightly her nails were digging into her skin. What was this?

Maybe she needed to be sick. There was something rotting and filthy inside her, threatening to rise up and spill out. It was like trying to suppress nausea. Her whole body heaved. She tried to remain still. 

She heaved again and then it happened. It wasn’t vomit that escaped her mouth but instead a strange, guttural groan, followed by another, and another, until she was howling, sobbing, strangling. Some feral ancient thing inside her was being expelled: flashes of memory that weren’t thoughts so much as feelings. Loss, and rage, and the terror of being left behind. These demons were her oldest friends. She found herself on all fours, punching the wood floor of the treehouse with one fist until it started to bleed. 

“Fuck you,” she gritted out to Clint. “Fuck you for leaving. Fuck you for not letting me go. I wanted to go. I wanted to go. I’ve always been _ ready _ to go. What I’m not ready for is _ living _ . I don’t know how to _ live. _ I wasn’t ever _ supposed to _ and now I’m stuck here. What am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do?”

She collapsed onto the floor again, feeling emptied and dazed but _ lighter. _ She floated for minutes and then maybe hours. It was hard to tell. 

“I miss you,” she said to him. 

_ Miss you too. _

She was 99% certain that she was hallucinating his voice. It was only in her head. But then again, he’d died on a mysterious planet under magical circumstances—maybe she wasn’t. There was always a chance he could hear her. She used to get emails from a raccoon. 

“I don’t know what the point of being happy is when it’s just going to be taken away again,” she said to the void. 

_ Loss is not the only thing that’s inevitable, Tasha. _

“What do you mean?”

_ Look the fuck around you. _

She paused. Tiny things came into focus. The grain of the wood on the floor. Wood that she had watched Steve sand. Wood that she had watched Bucky hammer. 

She was sitting in a tree. 

She was sitting in an oak tree 5,000+ miles away from Russia. 

After everything she’d been through she was still here, in a little house she’d literally built with her friends, after months of sharing an inexplicable love with the most comforting woman alive, a woman who had lost her soulmate and still wanted to risk her heart, because that’s what humans do, over and over. They keep going. 

Death was not the only thing that was inevitable. 

Loss was not the only thing that was inevitable. 

Pain was not the only thing that was inevitable. 

She sat up, and wiped her face, and found herself staring at the top of Morgan’s sneaky little head. Morgan, a child conceived after half the planet’s population disappeared into ash. There was noise pollution from the sounds of humanity’s collective wailing. Morgan’s mere _ existence _ was defiant: a tiny hope, growing first in Pepper’s womb and now in the world. 

Death was not the only thing that was inevitable. 

“How long have you been there, sweetie?”

She was nestled at the top of the ladder, her head only just poking through the hole in the floor that made the entrance. 

“I just got here. Mommy is worried because she doesn’t know where you are. Captain America is looking all over and Mr. Bucky said you’d come back when you’re ready.”

Natasha’s face was still damp but she smiled. “You shouldn’t be outside after dark by yourself.” 

“But I’m not by myself.” 

“That’s right,” she told the child, and maybe the one that still lived inside her, “You’re not by yourself.” 

Eventually they made it back inside, and Nat asked Pepper if they could fire up the jet and head to Iowa for a funeral when the time came. 

  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. My head has been elsewhere (panicking, mostly!) because of current events. But I hope this imperfect chapter gives you some peace anyway. Happy Easter. Should have the last bits done this upcoming week.


	5. Summer (Again)

**SUMMER (AGAIN) **

_ I sit with my grief. I mother it. I hold its small, hot hand. I don’t say, _ _ shhh__. I don’t say, _ _ it is okay__. I wait until it is done having feelings. Then we stand and we go wash the dishes. We crack open bedroom doors, step over the creaks, and kiss the children. We are sore from this grief, like we’ve returned from a run, like we are training for a marathon. _ _ I’m with you all the way__, says my grief, whispering, and then we splash our face with water and stretch, one big shadow and one small. _

_ —Callista Buchen _

  
  


When the memorial service ended, Natasha fought the urge to slip away to the treeline to hide, just as she had after Tony’s funeral almost exactly one year ago. But this was Iowa, not upstate New York, and the treeline was much further away, and Pepper was holding her hand tightly as they sat there in fold-out chairs on the lawn. So she decided to stay put, rooted to the spot by a woman as golden as the fields surrounding them. 

It was close to the anniversary of Tony’s death, but Pepper bore it well. She was teary and pensive, but still happy to see so many familiar faces. Bruce, Rhodey, Peter Parker, Steven Strange, and Wanda were all slowly rising from their seats, talking quietly, making their way inside or toward the picnic tables set up with refreshments. Bucky was clapping T’Challa on the shoulder while Steve spoke to Thor with great interest. 

Thor had returned to earth for the occasion, as did some of the other off-world allies: Carol Danvers, Peter Quill, Rocket. It was awfully far for them to travel considering they didn’t really know Clint, but Natasha knew it was more about the reconnecting with each other. All of their lives had tangled up together. Everyone here helped save the world, maybe even a few times over. That was worth a reunion. 

Her runion with Laura had been tearful. They had hugged and made apologies this morning upon arrival. There was still a lingering bruise, one that only time would heal. Thankfully time was something they had plenty of. Clint had given them heaps of it, the bastard. 

Nat had heaps of time and she knew now what she wanted to do with it. She knew what she _ wouldn’t _ do too: Fury had pulled her aside earlier to offer her a new assignment in Wakanda, the new Avengers’ headquarters. For the first time in her life she turned him down, and he’d looked quite pleased to hear it. 

She was a civilian now, come what may. 

For the first time since she was roughly Morgan’s age, she wasn’t a soldier or a spy, or managing a bunch of superheroes. 

She was simply a woman holding another woman’s hand. 

She could do whatever she wanted with whomever she wanted to do it with. And in this case, that meant moving with Pepper to the west coast to rebuild Stark Industries as a disaster relief organization. Steve and Bucky were both on board. After this, they’d take the jet over the Great Lakes back to the cabin to start packing. Proof of the difference a year can make.

Nat leaned her head on Pepper’s shoulder, eyes on the sunset. Westward toward what would be their new home. One that they’d make together. Not due to disastrous circumstances but by deliberate, hopeful choice. It could all go wrong, but it would still be worth it. Worth it to look all the pain of this world right in the eye and try to be happy anyway. 

“Tell me one thing,” Pepper said, when the light was almost gone from the sky. “One thing I don’t know about you yet.” 

“I love you,” Natasha said. 

Pepper pulled back and smiled. “I actually did know that—and I love you too— if you couldn’t tell. But try again.”

“Okay, fine: For the first time in my life, I’m excited about the future.” 

Pepper kissed her softly as the fireflies flickered. She could hear her friends laughing and talking in the distance. And wasn’t that the greatest mystery: how people could laugh and kiss at funerals as well as cry. How people could fall in love after losses unfathomable. How the earth itself just kept on spinning, bathing every day in both darkness and light. 

  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really should've been a full length novel to get the vibe I was going for, but I didn't have the mental energy! Sorryyyyyy. It is what it is and hope you enjoyed. Stay safe out there. <3


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